


L'appel du Vide

by KilannaD



Series: Stepping Over the Edge [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beta'd by EvelynShadows, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Character Development, Dark Harry, Enemies to Friends, Every wants to protect their BB snakeling, F/F, F/M, Fourth Year, Government- Freeform, Harry is a Little Shit, Harry is adopted into Slytherin, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic History- Freeform, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Dumbledore, More of a Gray!Harry this book, No suicide despite the summary and title, Politics, Pureblood Politics, Pureblood Traditions, Romance also takes a backseat this book, Romance?, Sabbat Traditions-Freeform, Some soft times, Unplanned, also some not so soft times, first in a series, minor Slytherin politics, minor universe changes, okay it doesn't really exist this book, slow burn?, so much world building, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 77,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilannaD/pseuds/KilannaD
Summary: In a time where Harry is ostracized, his best friends abandoning him because of anger and jealousy and the whole school seems to turn against him, he finds himself storming out to find a place to calm himself. Fate, always a horrible Mistress, leads him into the company of the least likely to offer him comfort; Draco Malfoy. Perhaps, though, Draco may be able to offer answers to questions Harry has, and a new friendship may lead to a deeper truth than any believed and change the path of Harry Potter, forever.L'appel du Vide, otherwise known as the Call of the Void, is the phenomenon where some humans stand at the edge and feel the urge to jump off. The ever present call, to understand what is on the other side, to find the truth, often pulls at us. Some stay on the safety of the edge, but some- like a green eyed, dark haired wizard- take that last step and see the other side.





	1. Une Cigarette Pour L'ame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WintersEve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersEve/gifts).



> If any of you have read any of my other works, you'll notice I've only ever posted things for One Piece. You will also notice a significant lack of updates for Sea of Survival. The reasoning can be found on my tumblr, kilannad, but either way I decided I needed another project. My ever present partner and best friend, EvelynShadows, sees all of my potential ideas and the little blurbs I have of them. When she saw this one, she got on my ass to start writing it. So, here I am. The Idea for this fic literally came from this single scene I had in my head (which doesn't actually come up till 20,000+ words into this) and just grew from there after Evelyn yelled at me when I suggested leaving an ambiguous ending and made me come up with an actual plot. I don't know how this is going to go, but let me know what you think.  
> NOTE ON PAIRINGS: so yes, against my better judgement and my actual writing abilities, pairings will be a thing. There are two main ones that I'm on edge about, but there is also going to be side pairings, background ones, etc. I'll try not to let it over shadow the plot and writing, but we'll see.

**Friday, November 4** **th** **, 1994**

Harry James Potter was done. He was just…  _ done _ .

It had only been four days since Halloween, and he was so beyond angry he knew that if he stayed inside for one more second he would end up cursing someone.  _ Probably Ron and Hermione _ , he thought bitterly. It had hurt, when they’d both accused him of entering his name. Weren’t his friends supposed to know him? Shouldn’t they realize that more fame and fortune were the  _ last _ things he wanted? Aren’t friends supposed to stick by you, no matter what?

A vague memory flashed through Harry’s mind of when he was eight. He’d been scrubbing the kitchen floor when Dudley and Piers Polkiss had gotten in a row. Harry didn’t know what it was about, hadn’t really cared beyond the fact that Polkiss had stomped out and left Dudley in a bad mood with nothing to distract him except Harry. But Harry remembered that Polkiss had come back the next afternoon, rubbing his arm in a nervous habit of his. No apologies were exchanged, that wasn’t really their style, but Polkiss had stuck out his hand and Dudley had shaken it and that had been that. It was their way of apologizing, their way of saying “friends?”

It had been a stupid fight, and they’d both realized that and gotten over it. Harry knew Ron and Hermione would get over it, too. He just wished it didn’t hurt so much that there was something to  _ get over _ . They should believe him. That’s what friends did.

Harry had stomped out one of the side doors when he’d caught sight of a few Gryffindors. He didn’t pay attention, just followed the wall in a blind desire to get away. He didn’t remember it was November until he was shivering in his thin shirt. He’d forgotten his cloak. He contemplated going back in for it, but then decided it wasn’t worth facing the crowds of students.

He was so caught up with shivering, though, that he didn’t see the shadow of a body, or feel the warming charm take effect until Draco I’m-a-Ponce Malfoy was right in front of him, a cigarette hanging from his gaping mouth.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.” And wasn’t that odd. No insults, nor curses. Just blatant shock at finding themselves in this situation. Harry took a moment to look around and found that he had walked into a small nook, too small to be an actual courtyard but something to that effect, with two stone benches placed against Hogwarts’s stone walls and a small table with a bird bath that Malfoy was clearly using as an ashtray. Belatedly, Harry noticed that there was a warming charm cast over the entire area, washing away his previous shivers in a tide of toe curling warmth. The place also smelled completely of some unholy combination of what Harry recognized as sage and what he thought might be mugwort. For some reason, it wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as he thought it should be.

“What are you doing here?” He finally asked, because staring at Malfoy had never been his idea of a good time.

True to form, Malfoy’s shock was swept behind a sneer as he held his cigarette between two fingers. “I should be asking you that, Potter. Not enjoying the attention your little stunt is getting you?”

Half wanting to snarl, half wanting to curse the entire damn world, Harry chose the simplest option and just collapsed onto the stone bench opposite Malfoy. Whatever energy had filled him at seeing Malfoy vanished because he was so damn  _ tired _ all of a sudden. He didn’t even care anymore.

“Well, Potter?” The self-entitled brat drawled. Harry took a deep breath, trying to find the strength within himself to get up and snarl and trade insults with his rival because that’s what they always did, what happened every time they’ve seen each other since that day on the train. Harry just found himself empty, some deep hollow feeling slowly growing and consuming everything he was. He felt his shoulders slump and, with nothing better to do, he buried his head in his hands and curled into himself, hands clenching and pulling at the unruly strands of dark hair.

“Potter?” Malfoy asked again, and Harry knew he was losing his mind because he could’ve sworn the other boy’s voice softened.

“Just…” Harry took another deep breath and forced his throat to work, to push words past the burning and tightening that made him choke. “Just let me sit here, in silence for a little while, alright? I’ll leave soon.” To his eternal shock, Malfoy listened. Harry heard the shift of fabric (no doubt of the highest quality because this was  _ Malfoy _ ) and the Slytherin fully leaning back against the wall with a huff, but otherwise the area was silent.

Harry didn’t know why he stayed, instead of getting up and dredging on to find another hole to hide in. Just that it was warm here, that the scent of herbs filled the area and soothed him. All he knew was that there was no one around whispering about him or yelling invectives for his perceived misdeeds. It was, without a doubt, the calmest and most peace he’d gotten since Halloween. And wasn’t that just sad.

He didn’t want to think about how the world was so inclined to shun him with no evidence, or how his friends just turned their backs and believed everyone else over him. So, he pushed those thoughts away and just concentrate on breathing in and out, pulling in the crushing weight of hopelessness that had invaded his very sense of self.  

Going through breathing exercises had taken up so much attention that he startled when Malfoy abruptly tapped his arm with a cigarette.

“What?” He asked dumbly, because honestly, how else was he supposed to react.

Malfoy gave a heavy sigh of the long suffering before offering the cigarette again. “Clearly you need a smoke.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, now isn’t there?” When Harry still didn’t move, Malfoy rolled his eyes and, in a move so utterly outrageous that Harry froze, leaned forward and placed the cigarette in Harry’s mouth before holding up his wand and murmuring a weak fire spell to light it. Harry breathed in on instinct as he leaned back because  _ Draco Bloody Malfoy was way too close and this was  _ not  _ okay _ …

Only to start hacking in the next instant. He pulled the murder stick away and wondered, briefly, if this was how he would die. Not by Voldemort, or his sick Death Eaters, but by a cigarette.

Malfoy, the wanker, had sat back with a snort and a broad smirk. “A light smoke defeats the great Potter? How poetic.”

“Shove it…” he paused to hack some more and  _ breath _ when his airway finally cleared. “These things will kill you, you know?”

Malfoy sneered, and Harry wondered what it said about him that seeing the familiar expression was a comfort. “You are such a bloody muggle sometimes. First of all,” he raised one pale finger and spoke slowly as if explaining something to a particularly dense kneazle “Herbs, even ones that are found in the muggle world, have properties that are strengthened when grown in magical environments because even the ambient magic we release is still, _surprisingly_ , magic. For example, mullein at its weakest will help with coughing and clearing lungs. Mullein, grown by a Master Herbologist, tends to neglect the adverse effects of smoking that some other herbs tend to carry. Not to _mention_ that these don’t have any nicotine in them. And even if all of that _wasn’t well known by any_ _sodden amateur_ , there’s also the fact that we live in a world with _magic Healers._ ”

Harry had nothing to say to that that wouldn’t further make him sound like an idiot, so he chose to stay silent as he warily brought the cigarette back to his lips. He took a shallow breath and immediately expelled it when it began tickling his throat.

Malfoy, in a show of magnanimous pity, told him briskly, “When you’re first starting, take a shallow breath and hold it in your mouth for a moment. After a second, gently push the smoke back out before breathing deeply through your nose. You can breathe out through your mouth or nose, it doesn’t matter.” Malfoy did each step with master hyperbole, somehow managing to look both like a stuck up douche, and an elegant prat at the same time.

The first time Harry tried he blew the smoke too far out, but, with Malfoy watching with great amusement, he soon got the hang of it. Though, he wasn’t nearly as elegant as Malfoy. Harry felt the herbs- something smooth and slightly sweet with a bitter aftertaste- wash through him and his muscles started to relax. When Malfoy pointedly flicked his ash into the basin between them, Harry followed suit before leaning back.

They passed several minutes in silence, for once finding no need to fill the space with curses and taunts. Some distant part of Harry realized that this was possibly the strangest thing he’d ever done, but he was finally breathing easier (ironic, considering the death stick in his mouth) and wasn’t so close to losing control, so he ignored it. Inside this protective little bubble that kept the wind and cold and stares out, he thought that he could finally let go for a little while. Even if he was with a Junior Death Eater.

“The Slytherins don’t think you did it,” Malfoy said abruptly, ruining Harry’s peaceful retrospect.

“What?”

“The Goblet. We don’t think you put your name in. That’s why you’re hiding outside with me, isn’t it? You’ve been ostracized.” And, because he is a ridiculous excuse for a human being, Malfoy added with a sharp smirk, “Again.”

“Wait,” Harry sat up, eyes narrowing. “Slytherins are getting as many hits in as the Hufflepuffs. What do you  _ mean _ , you don’t think I did it?”

“Bloody Hell Potter, do you ever  _ think _ ?” Highly offended, but wanting answers nonetheless, Harry stayed silent as Malfoy went on. “The Goblet of Fire is almost as old as Hogwarts, so there was no way  _ you _ could’ve programed it to accept you as a fourth champion.  _ Not to mention _ , someone with as abysmal skills as you couldn’t hope to get pass an age line made by Dumbledore. The man may be a coot, but he’s still a powerful wizard.”

“Dumbledore is not a coot!” Harry snapped back. Malfoy’s lips pulled back but he remained silent for once, letting Harry stew until he begrudgingly asked, “If you all don’t think I did it, why are you taking part in the ‘socially torture Harry Potter’ party?”

“Because we have plenty to get you back for. This is just a convenient excuse that the teachers can’t pin on us alone when the rest of the Houses are doing the same.” Harry scowled at his blasé tone, taking a longer drag from his quickly shortening cigarette.

“What did I ever do to you?”

Malfoy stared incredulously for a moment while he sputtered. “’What did-‘ What _ did you do?! _ ” He sat up straighter and glared while he pointed a perfectly manicured nail at him sharply. “How about hating all of us on principle just because we wear green? How about  _ breaking into our common room _ ? How about representing everyone that hates us just because we have different values?”

“Of course, I hate you! You’re a prat!” Harry forgot why he’d been sitting calmly as rage swept through him.  _ How dare he? _ “You insult my friends just because they weren’t born in the same social class as you. You were  _ happy  _ when there was a  _ bloody basilisk on the loose _ . The Slytherins were the ones that  _ killed my parents!  _ You’re bloody evil, of course I hate you!” Sometime during his rant, they’d both surged to their feet, panting heavily. Malfoy’s aristocratic features were twisted into an ugly expression of anger and disgust. For some reason, he appeared much more upset then he usually did. Difficult, considering he always appeared like he’d just watched someone skin his kneazle every time Harry was within a meter of him.

“ _ We are not evil! _ ” Malfoy ground his cigarette butt into the basin and stabbed Harry in the chest with his finger. “Just because we prefer ambition and self-preservation over running head long into danger doesn’t make us less then you. Just because we don’t want to see our ancient traditions and the Olde Ways whipped out by outsiders doesn’t make us evil.”

“Most Death Eaters were Slytherins,” Harry spat, shoving him off and grinding his own cigarette butt. Distantly, he wondered when he’d finished it.

Malfoy snarled. “Barty Crouch Jr., Ravenclaw, Denia Mulciber, Ravenclaw, Drew Rosier, Hufflepuff,  _ Sirius Black, Gryffindor _ .” Harry choked back words because if he spoke he would start defending Sirius. He was honestly just a few words away from throwing a punch, much like Hermione had done so he took a deep breath.

“You can’t deny that a lot of the Death Eaters were Slytherins,” he finally spat.

“The Dark Lord offered to protect our culture, of course traditionalists joined!”

“So, you admit it! Traditionalists are Dark!”

“ _ Dark doesn’t make evil! _ ” Malfoy screamed, face so close to Harry’s that he could taste the mugwort on his breath. “How about you stop being such a Circe-damned puppet, and actually try learning a thing or two before throwing around judgements like a self-righteous, ignorant plebeian?!” Malfoy turned sharply on his heel, stalking out with the last line, “You disgrace the title of Heir, and the name Potter.”

Face no doubt flushed at the argument, and gut churning at everything that was said, Harry collapsed once more to rub his face. Vaguely, he noticed that the calm that the cigarette had gifted him was long gone and wished for another one.

Realizing what he’d been thinking, Harry grimaced to himself and pushed that thought down. What had taken over him, to accept something like a cigarette from Malfoy of all people? Clearly, the strain from the Tournament- which hadn’t even started yet- was getting to him.

Harry took a few more minutes to calm himself and ensure he looked at least halfway presentable. No reason to add fuel to the raging inferno that was Hogwarts’s rumor mill. He memorized the location of this little hidey-hole- it really was a great spot to come escape from others, Malfoy notwithstanding- before he finally made his way back to class.

As he walked, he ignored the whispers and the stares, all which sounded an awful lot like Malfoy’s educated drawl.

_ “You disgrace the title of Heir, and the name Potter.” _


	2. Histoires Fantastiques

**Saturday, November 5** **th** **, 1994**

Harry found Malfoy’s parting sentence twisting in his mind, the echoing words digging in until it was all that he could think about. That night, he slept very little, too busy tossing and turning behind his curtains for his mind to quiet. He was up by six the next morning, and for once he was glad that none of his roommates were ever up before ten on Saturdays.

After showering and dressing in loose, comfortable clothes, he made his way out of Gryffindor Tower and deeper into the halls of Hogwarts. This early in the morning, he was the only one out and he took a moment to acknowledge that, despite the horrid reasoning for it, waking up early was one of the few good habits that came from living with the Dursleys. Though he wished that he was capable of sleeping past eight without being injured.

Not paying attention, Harry allowed his feet to take them where they willed, mind wandering. The castle was drafty, this time of year, and Harry was glad for the thick Weasley sweater he had put on. Even if it shot a pang of hurt through him to think too long about it.

Ron had been his friend since first year, Harry reminded himself. He’d come around. Ever since he’d sat down in that cart on the Hogwarts Express, Ron hadn’t stayed away for long. Even when he’d had fits of jealousy (the idiot, he could have the fame for all Harry cared) he’d always come back to Harry. This was just another moment like that.

Harry was glad that Ron had sat with him on the train, that first year. He  _ was _ . Ron had been a good friend and helped him out in this strange new world. It was a lucky break that the train had been full.

Harry stopped suddenly as he ran through that thought in his head again, wondering what had caused the sudden unease washing through him. Ron had come in, asked to sit down because everywhere else was full. He’d stared at Harry for a moment, before offering his name. He’d been excited about meeting Harry, his entire face lighting up. Nothing about that was strange, so why did Harry feel like he was missing something obvious?

_ “Everywhere else is full.” _

The Hogwarts Express couldn’t possibly have been full.  _ That _ was what was wrong about that. The train was from the mid-19 th century, a great advance for wizarding kind and the only thing like it. Hermione had once gone on and on about it. Each compartment expanded to fit ten, and, at its building, there were enough carts to fit all years comfortably and then some when needed. And Hermione had once looked up the previous class sizes for the years before the war with Voldemort. The school used to have nearly triple the amount of students it did now. So, there was no possible way for it to have been full.

Harry shook his head, smacking himself. He was exhausted, but that was no reason to start being a paranoid shit. Ron had probably only come across compartments with older students that he didn’t want to sit with. Or maybe the Express had been shortened when the classes got smaller. There were lots of explanations that didn’t involve… whatever Harry had been starting to contemplate. He snorted to himself as he started walking again. Obviously, things were starting to get to him, if he was starting to question everything like some bloody Slytherin.

_ “You disgrace the title of Heir, and the name Potter.” _

Speaking of Slytherins. Harry wasn’t sure what about that line kept it in his head. He’d never heard about any title (besides the cursed Boy-Who-Lived one), and Malfoy had never insinuated the name Potter was anything but a disgrace.  _ Heir _ . Perhaps that was what bothered Harry. The way Malfoy had said it, as if it was a great honor. Then again, perhaps it had been the entire interaction. Harry and Malfoy argued regularly, about anything and everything. Ever since Harry had turned down Malfoy’s offer of friendship. But that… that had been different. Not only because it had started out with Malfoy offering comfort, of all things (Harry thought he wouldn’t mind another cigarette, it had relaxed him better than anything else) but simply because the way the argument had developed.

Threats, insults, those were all average for them. But to argue about dark and evil? That was new. Malfoy had never tried to defend Slytherins outside of the basic insults that were thrown around. Ron would often call Malfoy a Junior Death Eater, which always got a rise out of him, but it never devolved like it had yesterday.

Malfoy’s face when Harry had asked what he’d ever done to him flashed through his mind. He’d been flushed, and angry, and his gray eyes had been bright with indescribable emotions. But he’d also looked honestly shocked and disappointed, which just confused Harry further.

And his parting words… what could they have possibly meant?

Without conscious thought he found himself turning and heading towards the library, taking only a second to cast a tempus and notice that it was eight and breakfast would be started by now.

_ Maybe I should eat with Ron first- _ . He took a sharp breath, because Ron wouldn’t care even if he did notice. Harry figured answers ( _ and avoiding the students _ ) was more important than eating breakfast. Besides, he was used to limited meals, missing one wouldn’t kill him.

Mission reaffirmed, he made his way into the blessedly empty library.

“Er,” he began when he got to the front desk. Madam Pince glared at him, and he suddenly remembered all the times he and Ron had gotten kicked out. “Do you, um, do you have any books on genealogy?” It was a long shot, but he figured that focusing on the part of Malfoy’s barb that he could actually understand was the best place to start. Madam Pince gave a few curt directions and promptly went back to whatever she was doing before he dared to interrupt her sanctuary.

As he moved further and further back, he was suddenly worried that he might get lost. He had never come this far back into the stacks, and he wondered if even Hermione had. He snorted at that insane thought; as if Hermione Granger hadn’t explored every inch of this place.

Then again, this entire ordeal was insane and idiotic. Malfoy had just been a git, saying something he thought would get Harry’s boxers in a twist. And look, he was right. Harry had never met his parents,  _ could _ never know them, but Sirius had been talking to him as much as he could and they often came up, even if Sirius always looked like he was about to cry. Harry liked to think that they would be proud of him, that they wouldn’t think he was a disgrace. As much as sometimes he felt like one.

Right before Harry turned around to head back and chalk up this entire adventure to him being an idiot, he reached the stack Pince had described and a title on a thick, black monstrosity caught his eye.

_ The Ancient and Noble House Potter. _

Despite the ball of unease beginning to drop into his gut, Harry grabbed the large tome and brought it to one of the few, dusty tables that were this deep into the library.

The book hit the table with a heavy thump, the dust shooting into the air causing Harry to cough. While the leather cover had long since darkened to black, the front had a shield, that appeared more as a hexagon with a diamond within it, was stained a dark red. Two golden oaks, edged in green, were mirrored to each other, a black wand separating them. In dark orange letters, the words “Neart na Gcomhghuaillithe” were inscribed under the emblem.

Harry rubbed his hands lightly over the words, wondering what they meant and what language they were in. It didn’t sound like Latin, but he also had no solid basis in any language other than modern English. Taking a deep breath and not knowing why this seemed so very,  _ very _ , important, he gently flipped the cover open. The first page just showed the same shield and words as the cover, with the words  _ “The Ancient and Noble House Potter” _ written in neat cursive at the top. He turned the page again, going slowly so as not to damage the crinkling paper, though it was already darkening from age.

His breath caught and he collapsed into a chair when he began reading.

* * *

 

_ Unlike some Olde Families, the Potters can track their History back to the very beginning. Linfred of Stinchcombe, born early in Lady Magick’s year Twelve Thousand Forty-Two, has left behind the impression of an eccentric Potion Master, who spent his years acting as a minor Healer in the area of his home and making incredible advances. Many knew him as “The Potterer”, which later became corrupted into his Noble Family’s name; Potter. _

_ In Lady Magick’s year Twelve Thousand Eighty, Linfred began actively selling the many Healing Potions he created, and, the then only Hundred-Eighty-Three year old Wise Men’s Council, awarded him an Order of High Merlin for his gifts to the Magick World. He was then, not two years later, raised to the rank of Noble. Lord Linfred took two mirrored golden oaks on a field of red as his crest, to symbolize that one must always have the courage to do what they wish, but also the intelligence to know when to stand strong and when to find calmer solutions, even if it means leaning on another. He famously believed that balance was important in life, just as a reflection would show a different angle of yourself, so must you be able to think from different sides. The House Watchwords, Neart na Gcomhghuaillithe, come from an Irish saying that Linfred’s wife, the Lady Aife Potter, once told him; “If you cannot find strength in yourself, find strength in your allies”. Thus the words Neart na Gcomhghuaillithe; Strength of Allies. _

_ In Lady Magick’s year Twelve Thousand Eighty-Seven, Miss Iolanthe Peverell married Lord Linfred’s eldest son, the Heir Apparent Hardwin Potter. As a wedding gift, then Lord Cadmus Peverell of Peverell gained the support of his Most Ancient allies and supported the Potter’s rise to Ancient and Noble. _

_ Since such time, the Ancient and Noble House Potter has allied itself by word, Magick, and matrimony, to various other notable Houses. The House has many Noble and Great members, each written within these pages so that future Lords and Ladies may understand the great past of the House Potter. _

* * *

 

Barely believing his eyes, Harry flipped the page again, face riveted to the top where, in the same steady script, the name  _ Linfred Potter _ sat. He continued flipping pages, recognizing some names like Weasley, Abbott, and, a few times, even Malfoy or Greengrass connecting to long lines of Potters. He let his eyes rove, hardly absorbing much until he came to the final page. There, with a strange sense of  _ right _ , were the words;  _ Lord Jameson Charles Potter, Lady Lily Marigold Potter nee Evans _ . And below them;

_ Heir Apparent Hadrian James Potter _ .

* * *

 

It was lunch by the time Harry drew himself away from the tome. It didn’t have much, besides his family tree. A few lines on each member, the dates of birth and death, and their spouse and children. Still though, Harry would never get the chance to know his parents, or any other Potter for that matter (unless he went to the States, where the book said a minor branch lived). It was nice to read about them, to have more details than just names and the same generic lines everyone but Sirius spouted any time he asked about them. Besides, this gave him more than just his parents, as amazing as they were, it told him about family that he hadn’t even thought about. His grandparents, his great-grandparents, his great-uncle, all of these people he had never even thought of outside of the abstract way that he sometimes acknowledged that his parents had their own families outside of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. None of them were alive, anymore, all dead during the war with Voldemort or even before then, but it was nice to put names to his ancestors.

He ate quickly, not caring for the stares and sneers that had yet to abate. It wasn’t long before he was making his way back up to the library, ignoring Ron and Hermione completely.

The book sat where he left it, so he reopened it to the first page. As amazing as finding his family tree was, it still hadn’t answered the question of  _ why _ Malfoy had brought it up. Or why the words Heir Apparent were written before his name. He also had no idea that his full name was Hadrian. Perhaps it was a prank? But, no, no one short of the Twins would do something this complex. It was all far too detailed to be fake.

_ The Ancient and Noble House Potter _ . That title seemed important, somehow, but he didn’t recognize it. He stood from the table, returning to the shelf of genealogy books. There were dozens and dozens, each darkened by age but with crests and names.  _ The Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy _ was inscribed on one, and, despite his burning curiosity, Harry stayed far away from it.

He was slowly reading through titles, starting at the bottom and working his way up, when he finally found something he thought might help.  _ The Ancient Tale of the Wise Men’s Council _ .

Harry took it down, returning his seat and settling in to read the thick tome that smelled of dust and paper and ink. He skimmed through the foreword, mostly stating that the knowledge within is what the authors could piece together from surviving accounts and tales past by word of mouth. It didn’t take him long to turn to the first page and the true introduction.

* * *

 

_ Wizarding history is filled with wars and battles between any number of factions. It was often the case that a powerful wizard would claim land, use their magic to build a Holding and defend said Holding from all others. It was also common for weaker wizards to settle close to those stronger than them and they soon developed a symbiotic relationship. This was essentially the beginning of Noble Houses. And, as is common in all forms of intelligent life, conflicts soon developed between these Most Ancient Lords. _

_ In Lady Magick’s year Nine-Hundred-Ninety-Three, four Heirs of such Lords allied and claimed land to themselves to build what they called a safe-haven, which they named Hogwarts and invited any child to come and learn from them in a safe location. Of course, the Heirs and future of near all of the most important Houses was too tempting for others, and as such, Hogwarts was oft a target. However, Lords Gryffindor and Slytherin were both renowned for their battle skills, and they were always glad to demonstrate such things to any enemies that threatened their school. _

_ In Lady Magick’s year Nine-Hundred-Ninety-Seven, after several attacks on Hogwarts by the Dark Lady Lilianni, the entirety of which was later named the War of Seven Spells, the Lords and Ladies of the twenty-seven most powerful families gathered under a Cease-Fire Ward created by a renowned, but poor, neutral witch. By the end of seven days of negotiations, which later became celebrated as Eirene’s Festival, these twenty-seven families created what was called the Wise Men’s Council, and gifted the witch who had served as the peace keeper a seat as well, thus creating what is now known as the Sacred 28. _

_ Skipping through time, in Lady Magick’s year One-Thousand-Eighty-Six, the  _ Deichead Fulteach _ , known in English as the Bloody Decade, began. This war was started by a Lady of the Wise Men’s Council known as Morgan Le Fay, against a young wizard from a peasant family by the name Merlin for some slight now lost to time. At the beginning, the Wise Men’s Council stayed out of it, as the slight to one of their numbers meant little to them as a whole. That is, until Merlin joined Arthur Pendragon’s Court. _

_ Arthur Pendragon, then King of Mundane Britain and part of the Norman Invasion, had left the Wise Men’s Council to govern Magicals like his father before him, so long as the Magicals refrained from going after he or his subjects. When Merlin joined his Court, Lady Le Fay became an enemy of the Kingdom, as well. The Wise Men’s Council was quickly dragged into the conflict, each taking sides and bringing whatever allies and vassals that served them along. The war lasted for ten long years, and many of it is now lost despite it only occurring two hundred years in the past from this moment. _

_ By the end of the Bloody Decade, Morgan Le Fay was dead and her only remaining daughter took her title and seat on the Wise Men’s Council, at King Arthur’s mercy. The most profound affect from this war, however, is the merging of Magicals and Mundanes. After Morgan’s death, King Arthur claimed that Magicals, as living on his land, must acknowledge his rule. As they had just finished a devastating war, they wisely sat to negotiations instead of starting another. They came to the agreement that the Wise Men’s Council would sustain self-rule of their people, but obey British law. _

_ Another effect of the Bloody Decade was the forming of two more ranks within the Wise Men’s Council. The first of which, Ancient and Noble, were given to most of the vassals and other allies that helped in the war, many of which were released from their vassal status, though not all. The second rank, Noble, was given to those who did a service to the country, and often were chosen by Merlin himself as he tried to encourage interactions between Magicals and Mundanes. King Arthur, to show his support of Magicals, granted each member a title within his own noble court based on rank in the Wise Men’s Council. _

_ While the Sacred 28 has never been touched due to it being considered the ultimate achievement of wizarding kind, not even when those holding titles were cast out or became antagonists like Morgan Le Fay, there have been many Houses rising and falling within other ranks, each with great Lords and Ladies. It is my hope that other’s may add to these pages future tales and events, to pass on to descendants of these great Witches and Wizards. For this reason, I leave this book to my children, so that in the empty pages that follow my own tales, they may add on to this source of knowledge. _

_ -Lady Cynthia Lovegood, Duchess of Lovegood. _

* * *

 

Floored, Harry leaned back and rubbed his head. That was… well, that was a lot of information. Le Fay and Merlin were names everyone knew, even Muggleborns that thought them myths. To find out they were real, and played what seemed like such a large role in wizarding society… It was times like these that he wished he had Hermione’s brain, because no doubt she would have sifted through all of that by now and come out with all the important bits. But he was just Harry, so despite the growing itch in the back of his mind that he thought might very well turn into a headache, he flipped through the pages, hoping for something else important might jump out at him.

He found it halfway through the book, on a page dated 1710.

* * *

 

_ Three years prior to this moment, a truly monumental event occurred; Britain formed it’s Ministry of Magic. The Wise Men’s Council, who has long been charged with governing Magicals, has had difficulties in recent years, especially since the Statue of Secrecy of 1692. They have found that the Houses do not have enough manpower or resources to handle the growing population. Before the separation from Muggles (a term coined in the Statue of Secrecy), these Lords and Ladies could rely on their Mundane counterparts’ aide in times of need. Now, however, they find themselves on the brink of collapse. _

_ At King George II’s word, they were absorbed into a new subsection of Muggle rule, known as a Ministry. New policies have been placed, departments have been formed, and entire new laws have been passed. In all of this, however, the Sacred 28 and other Houses have maintained their power, to some degree. _

_ The Wise Men’s Council, now named the Wizangamot, acts as a second layer of judicial and legislation power within the government, called the House of Lords. Several checks and balances have been negotiated so that, while the Ministry of Magic and every Magical is under the King’s Rule, we still retain independence to an acceptable degree. Each member of the Wizangamot also retains their Muggle Noble ranking, despite never making an appearance except in the most dire of circumstances, or ordered directly by His Majesty. _

_ The House of Lords, while not  _ as  _ powerful as it used to be, still maintains a great deal of power and Lords, Ladies and their Heirs will still be honored and respected as their due. _

_ -Heir Neo Lovegood, of Lovegood. _

* * *

 

Harry flipped the page, but nothing else on that topic was forthcoming. Staring at the book, he wondered what he was supposed to do with this. From what he could understand, even with how much his head was pounding, it seemed to discuss nobles within the government. Which, alright this is still Britain, even if it does do the stereotypical magic things like brooms and pointy hats and waving wands over boiling cauldrons. So, sure. Nobility. Made sense, to some extent. What really bothered him though, was what it all seemed to be suggesting. That  _ he _ was noble.

He flipped back to the first introduction by Cynthia Lovegood. “… _ two more ranks within the Wise Men’s Council. The first of which, Ancient and Noble…” _ He pulled the genealogy book towards him, flipping it open to the first page.  _ The Ancient and Noble House Potter _ . And before his name, on the last page,  _ Heir Apparent _ .

_ “You disgrace the title of Heir, and the name Potter.” _ Malfoy had said. As if he’d known. Which made  _ absolutely no sense _ . Harry? A noble? He didn’t know much, but he was pretty certain that noble Heirs didn’t grow up in cupboards or eating two pieces of toast a day. Even if this  _ was _ true, which he didn’t believe for a moment, why wouldn’t have anyone told him? Sure, he didn’t usually hang out with pureblood supremacists, but this was a central part of the government.  _ Someone _ should have told him. Or at least mention it in passing.

Then again, isn’t that exactly what Malfoy had done?

Shaking his head, a vain attempt to dispel the growing parasite of a headache, Harry grabbed both books and lugged them towards the library entrance. When he realized dinner had already started, he sped up considerably.

He’d spend some time tomorrow looking through them both a little more, he decided. Try to think and figure out what was happening, what this meant if it even meant anything. He  _ would _ have answers though. Too much was out of his control, what with the Tournament, his celebrity status, and his latest bout of ostracization.  _ Perhaps, after this is all over, I should just become an ostrich,  _ he mused. It would certainly fit with how the world viewed him, if nothing else. Transfiguration into a bird aside, he would gain control and understanding of at least this small part of his life.

_ Please don’t complicate my life further _ , he hoped in vain as he looked at the tomes, large and heavy in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	3. Mots des Mensonges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some writing done so I figured I'd post the next chapter.   
> PLEASE NOTE THE DATES. These will become important next chapter because this is NOT a linear story. Sometimes I'll jump around.

**Wednesday, November 9 th, 1994**

Draconus Lucius Malfoy was itching to curse Millicent into oblivion on Wednesday. Of course, because he was a well-bred, pureblood Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, he did no such thing and took the elegant way out. Namely, he sent Pansy a glare that told her to get Milly in line and went out for a smoke.

After the disastrous attempt to comfort Potter on Friday (he was still looking in to who had poisoned him and influenced his mind, because there was simply no other plausible reason for him being such an idiot as to try something like that), Malfoy had been in a foul mood and Zabini had taken that to mean it was a good time to make a play. This was, of course, a horrible idea. For Zabini, that is. As much as Malfoy loved his Hogwarts House, there were days when he really wished he didn’t have to play the political game and defend his standing as leader in his year, and, if he could just make prefect and secure some allies in the current fifth year class, a good contender for Slytherin leader after Felix Rosier graduated this year. If he played his cards right, he could be controlling Slytherin for his last three years, just like Father.

Of course, this was assuming he didn’t get sent to Azkaban for murdering Zabini beforehand. Honestly, Zabini was a powerful wizard, extremely intelligent, and, while he didn’t have much in the way of British political power, he did still have several beneficial connections. If only he hadn’t taken offense to a comment Draco made in first year about his mother. Even with Zabini’s antagonistic nature, Draco was still contemplating allying with him. Not to mention, if Zabini joined Draco, then he wouldn’t join Nott who had nearly as much power, money, and connections as Draco and could seriously be in the running for top snake if he would ever stop being a creepy bugger.

As he considered his options for his housemates, he let the sweet taste of mugwort wash over him, the accompanying sage creating a pleasant smell. Perhaps if he reached out to Demetria Rookwood, a currently neutral but absolutely terrifying fifth year prefect. If he could get her to side with him, her friends, each holding the same stance as her but also all petrifying, would follow her lead and his position of power would be guaranteed. That was, nevertheless, a very large _if_.

His rumination was interrupted rather abruptly when the Twat-Who-Lived barreled around the corner and directly into his haven.

“Potter,” he said, getting his face under control quickly because he would _not_ have a repeat of last time. He was a Slytherin, not a bloody Hufflepuff, and he’d better start acting like it before everything he’d worked for in his House came down around him. “Did it really take you this long to come up with a comeback? I must say, it’s quicker than your usual response time.”

“What did you mean?” the prat demanded, completely ignoring the insult. Perhaps it went over his head? Draco had made it more obvious than he usually would so that the Gryffindork would realize he’d been insulted. Was he overestimating Potter’s intelligence again?

“You’ll have to be more specific than that, I’m afraid. I mean a lot of things,” he finally drawled, after taking another drag. The Prat-Who-Lived could wait if he was just going to barge into Draco’s secret escape like he owned the place.

The beast growled, actually _growled_ at Draco. “Stop being a prat.” When Draco still didn’t respond, because he actually didn’t have any idea what Potter was talking about (not that he’d ever admit that), he finally said, “Last time we spoke you told me I was a disgrace to the title of Heir and the name Potter. _What did you mean_?”

So that was what this was about. Strange. Draco had never voiced what most believed, that the social disaster that was Harry Potter was a disgrace to everything the Wizangamot and its Lords stood for, mainly because James Potter had been a bloody blood traitor and thus had already disgraced the name. Still, Draco had thought it was about time Potter got his act together and started acting like the Heir he was. Honestly, he turned fifteen this summer and yet he acted as if his title was a joke, a game that he could just ignore and throw away because it wasn’t good enough for the _Boy-Who-Lived_.

“You’re confused about that? I know your grades are abhorrent, but I hadn’t realized you were _that_ slow.”

“ _Damnit Malfoy!_ ” Potter stalked forward. For half a second, Malfoy thought he might attack him like some muggle, but then Potter decided to be melodramatic and collapse onto a stone bench with a muffled scream. He took several moments to just breathe deeply, and Draco let him, because he honestly had no idea what was happening. “Look,” Potter finally said, the words so quiet that Draco had to stay still and give him his full attention to hear. “I couldn’t get what you said out of my head, so I looked into it.” Looked into it? Wait, was Potter _actually_ so slow he didn’t know what Draco had meant? That was ridiculous. He was _Harry Potter._ “And- Look, I found some books in the genealogy section of the library and they’re confusing as shit and I really don’t like the conclusion I came to. So, just tell me.” After a moment, he added a hoarse, “Please.” He sounded weary, Draco noted, like he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up. And wasn’t that a depressing thought? Still, though, did Potter actually not know who he was?

Draco paused, waiting to see if Potter would jump up and call him a slimy Slytherin (he never did come up with any new insults) or call him an idiot for believing such a lie. Neither happened, and Draco was honestly so surprised that he didn’t even take a moment to go through the potential disadvantages of telling him the truth. Uncle Sev would be so disappointed.

“House Potter is old, not as old as some, but sill old, and powerful. It’s commanded respect for centuries, until your father.” Potter’s head snapped up with a heated glared, but Draco ignored him and spoke before he could object. “Your father threw away many of the traditions of his House and of wizards in general. He married a witch within _muggle traditions_ ,” Draco couldn’t quite hide his disgust at the thought, “And was an overall blood-traitor.”

“Just ‘cause he wasn’t a racist git-“

“You wanted an answer, I’m giving it to you. Shut your mouth and listen or get lost,” Draco snapped back. Potter glared and growled lowly again because he was apparently more beast than man, but he didn’t say anything else.

“A lot of Light or Gray Houses don’t hold to blood supremacy, but that doesn’t make them blood-traitors. Do you even know what a blood-traitor _is_?” Potter didn’t say anything, just pursed his lips and glared sullenly at the wall to Draco’s right. “Of course you don’t. Honestly, did no one teach you anything when you entered the wizarding world?”

“How do you know I didn’t grow up here?”

“Because I’m not an idiot.” Potter switched his glare from the wall to Draco himself, so he figured he’d throw the idiot a bozear. “You spoke parseltongue in front of half the school and didn’t seem to realize what it meant, you had no idea who I was when we met, you never showed up in public or were even _sighted_ before first year, you gape at every new piece of magic you see and the first time I met you you were wearing hideous clothes that were obviously muggle. Not to mention when you talk to Gryffindork Two and Three you don’t try to keep shit quiet, so the rumor has been going around since first year.” Potter frowned, but Draco couldn’t tell whether that was because his “secret” was out to the whole school, because he’d insulted his friends, or because Draco’s blunt approach. Ugh, Draco being blunt. Clearly, he was spending too much time talking to Gryffindors.

“So what does blood-traitor actually mean then?” Potter finally asked.

“A blood-traitor is someone who throws away wizarding traditions and turns their back on wizarding culture. The Weasleys, for example.” Which, while Draco had known this since he was young, he hadn’t _understood_ it till second year, when he’d made the mistakes of shouting about mudbloods in the middle of a crowded hall.

“You can’t insult someone just because they think your world needs to advance beyond blood supremacy and muggle baiting.”

“I’m surprised you even know what muggle baiting is. But again, a lot of families think we should accept muggleborns and still hold on to their culture. This isn’t a one or the other situation.”

Potter seemed to mull over that and, despite the mien of distaste he bore, nodded and gestured for Draco to resume. Draco sneered, because honestly, commanding a Malfoy? As if. He did, however, continue, because this was revealing more about Potter than the prat probably realized. Not to mention it would be interesting to see where this ended up.

“Like I was saying, House Potter is old and politically powerful. Not only are you the Heir but you are also the last member of House Potter and that means you are the only one representing it. In the three and change years that you have been in the wizarding world, you have ignored wizarding traditions, even the ones of your own House, made enemies of several of the most powerful families, and been a general disgrace. And let us not forget that you have refused any and all invitations to social events. Well, refused is a polite word. _Ignored_ is more apt.”

“Wait,” Potter said, sitting up straight and waving his hands in the air like some sort of demented monkey. “What do you mean _invitations_?”

“What do you think I mean? The Malfoy Yule Ball, the Greengrass Lughnasadh Festival, the Abbott Lithia Feast. We all send you invitations every year and you never respond, even to say you can’t, or won’t, make it. It’s extremely rude.”

“Malfoy,” Potter said very slowly, as if _Draco_ was the idiot here. “I have never, not once, gotten an invitation to anything of the sort.” Draco paused, narrowing his eyes. Potter’s face was open and slack, confusion dancing in his bright green eyes. He didn’t _seem_ to be lying. Not to mention Potter couldn’t lie to save his life, the bloody Gryffindor.

Of course, if he wasn’t lying than that meant…

“What do you _mean_ you’ve never gotten them?!”

“I’ve never gotten any letter from anyone besides Hermione, the Weasleys, and my Hogwarts letters.”

“That’s…” Draco ran through that again. Harry Potter, never getting any letters. That was absurd. “What about the fan mail?”

“Fan mail?” He asked blankly because he was an absolute _moron_.

“You defeated the Dark Lord. Everyone has been sending you fan mail since you were a babe.” No need to tell him that Draco himself had sent a letter when he’d been four, thanking him for freeing Father from the Imperius. Oh, how Draco wished he could go back to those simpler days where the truth wasn’t a cruel mistress.

“I never got anything of the sort. And I would’ve noticed if my Aunt and Uncle were burning copious amounts of mail.” They both fell silent, and Draco ground out his last cigarette. Distantly, the part of his brain that wasn’t losing it over the fact that Potter’s mail had apparently been going missing for a decade, noted he’d need to get his mother to send him more cigarettes. He wondered if he could ask her what she thought about the mail. Potter was right about one thing, no way did muggles make it disappear. They wouldn’t have the power. Which left wizards, but seeing as Potter only had distant relatives that he apparently refused to live with and thus didn’t have custody of him, there really was no one who-

Except the fact that every wizarding child, even muggleborns, had a magical guardian.

“Who’s your magical guardian?” Draco asked suddenly, an idea beginning to form in the back of his mind. It didn’t make much sense, not yet, but any puzzle piece helped to form the picture.

“I don’t have one.”

“So Dumbledore then.”

“What?”

Draco sighed, because apparently Potter really had no idea about what was happening around him. “Every magical child has to have a magical guardian. It’s the law in case anything happens, and you need to be told your rights, as muggles have absolutely no say in anything that happens here. The Headmaster of Hogwarts becomes the de-facto magical guardian of any orphans or muggleborns when they’re in the wizarding world. That means you as well.”

“Alright,” Potter said slowly, nodding. “Makes some sense, I guess. But what does that have to do with the mail?”

 _He’s honestly just that stupid_ , Draco thought, _does he ever bother to_ think _?_

“It matters,” he actually said, because calling Potter an idiot wouldn’t help the situation no matter how apt the description. “Because the most plausible explanation for you not getting any mail would be for someone to have put a Re-Direct Mail Ward on you, which would be done most easily by your magical guardian.”

There was a beat of silence as Potter no doubt absorbed the information into his tiny rat brain before, “Why would Dumbledore try to keep mail from me? That doesn’t make sense.”

Taking the time to observe Potter, Draco contemplated how to respond. Potter seemed honestly confused but not suspicious, which meant he hadn’t considered any of the options Draco had. Namely, Dumbledore _wanted_ to keep Potter away from the wizarding world as much as possible. Which, considering Potter hadn’t learned about the wizarding world until first year, and even now didn’t know anything about the culture, seemed very likely. The real question then became why would the Headmaster want his perfect Golden Boy naïve and blind to his own heritage? Somehow though, Draco thought telling Potter that his hero wanted him stupid was not the way to go. Better to let him come to that conclusion on his own.

“You tell me,” he said instead. He watched as Potter thought about it, his face scrunched up and his eyes unusually dark. It was interesting, watching Potter work it out. The way he went from fidgeting to unnaturally still in a few moments, the way his eyes went from narrowed confusion to wide shock and disbelief. Whatever conclusion Potter came to was clearly unsatisfactory, though, because Potter just shook his head.

“I don’t know.” Draco didn’t believe that, and by the sound of it, neither did Potter. He went on, however, before Draco could question him about it. “Malfoy,” he said hesitantly, eyes down on his hands. “You-“ he cleared his throat, before starting again, with a little more strength. Gryffindor courage taking over, no doubt. “You’re an Heir as well, right?” It was more rhetorical, so Draco didn’t bother to interrupt. “I was reading a couple books I found in the library and they made it seem like a big deal. And as much as you’re a giant git, you clearly know more about what that means then I do. So, could… could you teach me? Could you tell me what my title means and what exactly I’m expected to be doing with it?” Potter looked up and met Draco’s eyes, full of hope and apprehension.

Draco couldn’t actually believe his ears. He almost said no, because this was Harry Potter, the same boy who had shoved aside his offer of friendship. This was Harry Potter, the boy who let his friend call elven year-olds Junior Death Eaters and spat at anyone who wore green and silver. Almost being the operative word. Of course, this was _Harry Potter_ , the Boy-Who-Lived, Heir of the Ancient and Noble House Potter. For him to come to _Draco_ for lessons… if Draco could teach him, and teach him right, if Draco could show him how to act like a proper wizard and maybe, just maybe get Potter indebted to him… The power Draco could get from this was immense.

“You will meet me here every Tuesday and Thursday after classes, as well as on Sundays after breakfast. You will not tell anybody I am helping you, and you will listen to me without interruptions. If I am going to do this, it will be thorough, it will be hard, and you have to keep an open mind about what I tell you, so no prejudices against pureblood culture. Understood?”

Potter looked shocked Draco was agreeing, which, alright, fair. He nodded, though he added on, “You can’t lie to me though. And you can’t force me to believe in something if it actually is evil or cruel. I want to make my own decisions on everything.”

That was…actually well thought out. Draco was surprised he knew how to make deals without selling his own soul or something. “Agreeable. I will tell you the truth,” just perhaps not the full truth, “and teach you everything you should’ve learned as a child. I will also let you make your own opinions on everything so long as you keep an honest open mind and actually listen to me.” Potter nodded, so Draco did as well and added. “So mote.” When Potter looked confused, he rolled his eyes. “First lesson, when you make a deal with someone, you close it by saying ‘so mote’. It’s short for ‘so mote it be’.” Potter nodded again.

He took a deep breath, as if this was some Dark contract saying he was signing his soul to the Devil and not just an agreement to learn more about his culture from his school rival. No similarities. At all.

“So mote.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment your thoughts! Next time, we find out what Harry learned that could've possibly driven him into the arms of his rival :)


	4. Famille Secrete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so I'm like this >< close to the scene that started this entire fic (I have a two chapter buffer between what I post and what I'm writing) and so here you guys go with the next chapter.  
> NOTE: I created a series for this because as we learn more about the politics and Lords and such things in this fic, I'll be posting them as separate stories so you all can keep track of it.

**Sunday, November 6 th, 1994**

Harry spent Sunday reading the two books in more detail. The Potter genealogy book didn’t have much in the way of pertinent information, even if it was interesting, so he focused more on the other one.

This seemed to be the way to go, because on the second page he found a list of the Sacred 28. Many of the names were familiar, which wasn’t that surprising, but one in specific stuck out.

 _Most Ancient and Noble House of Black_.

Which meant Sirius was from a noble family. And considering he had said he was the _last_ Black… that would mean it was likely Sirius himself was a Lord. If being an escaped convict didn’t negate that, which was possible.

But if Sirius was also a Lord, than he would probably know about Harry and what all this meant. And yet he’d said _nothing_ about it. No mention of it.

What Harry wanted to know was _why?_ Why had no one told him any of this? Why was History of Magic taught by a ghost too stuck in the past to be of use, instead of telling them about the founding of the Wizangamot and the government that ruled them? Why did Harry have no idea that he held a title, even if he had no idea what that title meant?

Why had Sirius, the one adult who seemed to genuinely care about him, not mentioned this at all? Given, perhaps it was simply a factor of time. Sirius had contacted him by owl, saying he was staying close in case something happened and Harry could contact him any time, but besides that they had only exchanged a handful of letters. So, alright. Sirius probably hadn’t thought to ask about this in their correspondences. _Would he answer my questions?_ Harry wondered. Sirius had told him that he’d do anything for Harry. But even Harry knew, despite minimal contact, that Sirius hated his family. He’d learned that in third year.

After wondering about it for a few more seconds, Harry came to a decision and brought out a piece of parchment. Even the chance of Sirius getting mad didn’t eradicate Harry’s desire for answers. He just really hoped Sirius didn’t get mad.

(For half a moment, a memory flashed through Harry’s mind. He’d been five, and asked his aunt and uncle about his mum. That was the first time his uncle had beaten him, _truly_ beaten him. A trickle of fear filled Harry wondering if Sirius would get as angry as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon did when he asked questions. Sirius always _seemed_ so kind, but Uncle Vernon was always polite when in front of others. Everyone could fake politeness.

Harry shook the thoughts off, refusing to give his aunt and uncle anymore power over him than they already had. Just because they were abusive arseholes didn’t mean everyone was. Still, Harry was careful with the wording of his letter.)

_Snuffles,_

_I’ve recently come across some information and I have questions that need answers. Desperately. You once said you were close, and now I wonder how close? These aren’t the type of things that should be shouted at a flame, or written on parchment. I need to speak with someone and you’re the only one I trust right now._

_Please, H.P._

Hedwig was happy to have a job, and flew off with the letter with an affectionate nibble. With nothing better to do, Harry returned to reading, wondering if Sirius was as close as he claimed.

* * *

 

**Monday, November 7 th, 1994**

The next day, Harry was glad to see Hedwig land before him at breakfast, stealing his bacon as she dropped a letter. With a few pats to his most loyal friend, he grabbed some toast and scrambled out of the hall, ignoring the suspicious look Ron was giving him.

Sirius’s response was short and filled Harry with an odd mix of excitement and dread.

_Harry,_

_Clearly you don’t want to give me details, but that’s alright. Discretion can be important, even if it does make me worry. I would never lie to you, and I am closer than you probably think. I’m trusting your discretion again, though, and hope you’ll meet me tomorrow night at the place we first spoke._

_S._

Now all he had to do was make it through two days of classes without exploding. Easy.

* * *

 

**Tuesday, November 8 th, 1994**

It wasn’t easy.

Harry would’ve sworn to Merlin that time slowed down just to make him mad. Between Trelawney predicting his death Monday afternoon and Snape actually trying to _produce_ his death via glares and sneers on Tuesday, Harry could barely stop himself from drawing his wand.

In any spare moment he had between classes and homework, he was reading more about the Wizangamot. There were so many things that the book left blank, though. Like what exactly an Heir was meant to _do_ , and how different families with the same title ranked against each other. Or how Harry was meant to learn all of this. The book seemed to assume he should know, which was simply frustrating. It mostly had stories on different Houses and how they made their names, as well as some interesting bits on Family Magicks that he didn’t really understand, and the evolution of the Wizangamot.

By the time curfew hit on Tuesday, he was practically vibrating with nerves and excitement. Nonetheless, he got changed and pretended to get in bed, waiting impatiently for everyone to fall asleep. When he was sure all his roommates were breathing deeply and snoring loudly, he crept out and threw a robe on, before grabbing his cloak.

It wasn’t difficult to make it out to the Willow with the help of the Marauder’s Map, and a well-aimed rock guaranteed him access to the passage. By the time he entered the Shrieking Shack, it was five minutes past midnight, and he pulled the cloak away just as he heard an excited bark. Harry turned, only to go down hard when a black beast better known as Padfoot tackled him.

“Ugh, gettaf!” After much pushing, and licking, Harry was finally freed, and Sirius transformed with a grin.

“Harry!” Sirius pulled him into a hug, but Harry felt himself stiffen. He wasn’t used to physical contact that wasn’t negative. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley hugged him a lot, and never seemed to notice how uncomfortable it made him, but that was really the only affection he received. After growing up with the Dursleys, where every touch was filled with pain, it always shocked him how easily some people shared casual affection like this.

Sirius, apparently paying more attention than anyone else ever did, pulled back quickly. “You alright?”

Harry shrugged as he stepped back, uncomfortable with his godfather’s clever eyes on him. “Not used to hugs is all.” Gray eyes scanned him from head to toe with narrowed scrutiny, but whatever conclusion Sirius came to was kept silent and he only stepped back and sat on the ground, ignorant to all the dust he was getting over himself.

“Well, I won’t hug you if it makes you uncomfortable.” There was a moment of silence while Harry was filled with gratitude he couldn’t quite put into words and instead tried to convey with his eyes. He must have done something right for once, because Sirius just smiled and patted the space in front of him until Harry joined him on the dirty wooden floor. “Now, you sounded worried, so why don’t you tell me what was so important that we couldn’t floo?”

Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to push down all his nervousness that came bubbling up. In the last five seconds Sirius had proven himself trustworthy and caring, even if one ignored everything else about Sirius. Besides, he had asked for this meeting, even going so far as begging his wanted convict of a godfather to meet him face to face despite the risk. Harry could do this. It was just a few simple questions.

Oh Merlin, why couldn’t he do this? Sirius wasn’t anything like his uncle. There were absolutely no comparisons to make. Harry managed to be around adults all the time without reverting back to who he’d been before Hogwarts. Harry didn’t _want_ to be weak and scared, and he’d been getting better since first year. He still didn’t like asking many questions, but he could manage it. And he knew Sirius wouldn’t hurt him. Yet Harry couldn’t help but stiffen and prepare to shrink into himself even as he tried to gather whatever Gryffindor courage was in him to finally speak.

“I-“ He took a few more deep breaths, keeping his eyes directed to Sirius’s chest, avoiding his eyes but still able to see when- _if_ he moved. “I found a genealogy book on the Potters. It- it mentioned something, a title. When I looked into it more, it made it seem as if the Potters were nobility of sorts, and that just doesn’t make sense, right?” Harry looked up, risking meeting Sirius’s eyes. He seemed confused, his nose scrunched up and head tilted to the side.

“Wait, are you saying you didn’t know about your status as an Heir of an Ancient and Noble House?”

“So it’s _real_?!” They both stared at each other for a few moments before Sirius released a series of curses so colorful Harry blushed.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius finally muttered when he got himself under control. “But Merlin, I can’t believe this. Are you saying you don’t even have your Heir ring?”

Harry, even more confused but glad Sirius didn’t seem to be mad at him, just shook his head. “I don’t even know what that _is_.”

“Right, you were raised by muggles, weren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“And when you entered Hogwarts, did no one explain your title and rights to you? Probably would’ve been the teacher that brought you your letter.”

“Uh, no one brought me my letter. Well, not at first. When I never responded to the initial one, they sent me a bunch and eventually Hagrid came and took me shopping.” Sirius stared blankly at him for a second.

“Hagrid? As in the gamekeeper?”

Feeling defensive, Harry sat up straighter. “Hagrid is a good friend!”

“I don’t doubt that, he was a friend of ours as well,” Sirius held his hands up in peace. “But he has no business introducing an Heir to the wizarding world. Someone familiar with the Wizangamot should’ve done that. Or, at least Dumbledore should’ve told you about this since then.”

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable. “Well, no one really tells me anything.”

“I’d just assumed you were like your dad and that’s why it’s never come up. Right,” Sirius ran a hand through his long hair and Harry took a moment to register that he had found a way to bathe properly and get better clothes, even if he was still dirty and thin. “Right,” he said again with a decisive nod. “Well, do you know about the three ranks and what the Wizangamot actually _is_?”

“Yeah. The Wizangamot is basically the House of Lords- meaning they handle legislation and occasional trials- and within which there is three ranks. House Potter is Ancient and Noble, the second highest.” Harry paused, before adding slowly, “And House Black is Most Ancient and Noble.”

“House _of_ Black,” Sirius corrected with a snort, “But yes, that’s basically it.”

“What do you mean ‘of Black’?”

“Any House that’s Most Ancient and Noble is addressed as House _of_ and then whatever family. A House that’s Ancient and Noble is just ‘House Blank’. Any Noble Houses are addressed as ‘Family’ instead of House. It’s just a way to differentiate.”

Harry rubbed his eyes, a headache quickly developing. “I don’t understand why I was never told about any of this. If I’m nobility, shouldn’t I have been trained in, I don’t know, manners and law and stuff?”

“Yes,” Sirius looked uncomfortable but seemed just as determined to continue as Harry. “Your father… he hated all of this stuff. Called it nonsense and said he wished he’d never been born an Heir. He claimed the Potter Lordship just long enough to name Dumbledore his Proxy and then turned his back on the entire thing. It was… frowned upon to handle it like that, but no one could change his mind.”

“Not even you?” Harry asked, because Sirius hadn’t gotten mad at him and he was finally relaxing around him. Besides, Harry had started this so he would damn well finish it. Even if he did rub his hands on his pants to get rid of the sweat.

“No. But by that point I was long estranged from my family, even if Grandfather never officially disowned me and thus never removed my status as Heir. I didn’t hold much power, couldn’t with Grandfather still alive and Lord, and I refused some of the traditions and responsibilities but not all of them.” Sirius barked a rough laugh. “The old man finally died in ’91. I guess that makes me Lord Black now. Maybe I’ll claim my Lord ring. Wonder if I can get access to the vaults that way.” Harry didn’t understand some of that, but Sirius seemed to be talking more to himself anyway, so Harry just moved on.

“So… what exactly do I do?”

“I…” Sirius ran a hand down his face, looking older than his years all of a sudden. “It’s your choice Harry. It’ll always be your choice.” Harry felt an unexpected warmth. When was the last time he’d been given a choice, a _real_ choice? “But if you want to learn more about it, on how an Heir should act and the responsibilities you’ll hold when you come of age and become a Lord, you’ll need someone that can teach you more often than I can.” Sirius looked devasted, Harry noted, as if what he was saying physically pained him. “I want to Harry, I really do, but as long as I’m a wanted man I can’t risk you getting hurt because of me. I can tell you about the traditions specific to the Potters that I know about via letter as well as…” Sirius trailed off again, looking conflicted.

Harry sat forward, reaching out to place what he hoped was a comforting hand on Sirius’s shoulder. Somehow, this felt completely unnatural, as if someone else should be doing it. “As well as what, Siri?” The nickname was spur of the moment, but Sirius gave a smile that was only slightly tinged with madness. Clearly, he was doing something right. That or Sirius was just getting better with time, which was a comforting thought.

“As well as the traditions about the Blacks.” Harry didn’t understand what he meant, so he said as much. Sirius seemed to think this was highly important, because he grabbed Harry’s hands and held him in front of him, speaking slowly. “When you were born, it was the happiest day of all our lives. I’ve never found anyone I was willing to settle down with, but I knew with the war happening, and Grandfather getting older, that it was very likely one or both of us would die and someone else would need to become Heir Black. As I didn’t have any children of my own, it was likely it would’ve passed to any children Narcissa had, and I couldn’t let the Death Eaters get any more power.”

“What did you do?” Sirius met Harry’s eyes, and he seemed to be begging for something, though Harry had no idea what. There was a weight to the air, and Harry wondered if this was the kind of conversation that changed lives. For some reason, he thought this would change his.

“I begged your father to let me perform a blood adoption ritual. It took a while, but he agreed.”

“A _what_?”

“Blood adoption ritual,” Sirius repeated, but he began babbling, talking quickly as if getting all the words out would solve everything. “It’s highly illegal Harry, and considered Dark, but it was the only way I could think to guarantee the Family Magicks accepting you as the next Heir.” When Harry was still silent, he added quietly, “It basically means I became a biological third parent to you, that you’re a Black as well as a Potter.”

“You…” Harry trailed off, his mind blanking for a moment. “You’re my _dad_?”

“Technically. But James will always be your real dad and I don’t expect anything from you and as your godfather I would’ve been like an honorary parent anyway so really-“

“Sirius.” His mouth snapped shut with a click, but Harry was too busy having a minor freak out. He had a parent. Not just a godfather, but an actual _parent_. A mad, escaped convict and only biological because of magic, but a lot happened just because of magic and Harry accepted all of that.

Some part of Harry yearned to just throw himself into Sirius’s arms and sob. It had been years since he’d stopped dreaming of his parents one day coming back and taking him away from the Dursleys, especially after he learned the truth of their deaths. Yet here he was, with the only adult who had ever shown he cared about _Harry_ , telling him that Sirius was technically his father.

Was it wrong that he wanted this? A betrayal to James and Lily? Would Sirius even want Harry as a son, considering everything Harry was and what was expected of him? Could he even _ask_?

“I…” Harry licked his lips and swallowed more heavily. “I need to think.” Yes, think. Take some time to let the world stop spinning around him. Find some dark hidden nook in Hogwarts and let his thoughts sort themselves out so he could actually come to a decision.

When Harry focused enough to actually take in Sirius, he saw that his godfather (father?) was looking distraught for all of three seconds before he smiled. It looked particularly forced. “Yeah. This has been a lot to take in, I’m sure. Did I answer all of your questions, at least?”

Harry nodded as he stood on shaky legs and made his way over to the trapdoor. When Sirius cleared his throat, though, he paused half in the tunnel.

“Look, Harry, I…” Sirius took another deep breath. “Whatever decision you make, I’ll support you no matter what. And I’ll give you time and space to think just- When you do make a choice, whatever it may be, just send me a letter. I’ll be staying in a little cave not far from Hogsmeade.” Harry gave another jerky nod and disappeared down the tunnel and back to his dorm.

* * *

 

**Wednesday, November 9 th, 1994**

The following day Harry floated through his classes, letting his mind wander. He didn’t come to any conclusions on what he should do so, when it came time for his last class of the day (History) he headed away from the throngs of students and into the back hallways that were often empty, mostly because they led to the unused second astronomy tower. It wasn’t like Binns would notice, anyway.

Sirius was his father. He was the Heir to two noble Houses. And no one, _no one_ , had told him. Harry didn’t blame Sirius for not bringing it up, considering he’d clearly expected Harry to take after his father (James, his first father, because he apparently had _two_ ) and they really hadn’t talked much beyond a few letters after school started up again. As for Dumbledore though…

Harry didn’t understand what was so wrong about him knowing his status that the Headmaster had to keep it a secret. He wasn’t surprised that he’d never heard it from his classmates, Ron hated anything to do with purebloods and Hermione was a muggleborn, and those were the only people he really talked to. Which, now that he took a moment to consider it, was actually really depressing. No wonder he was currently friendless.

This all meant, of course, that Dumbledore should’ve told him, and didn’t.

Then again, the only one who _had_ brought this up to him was Draco Bloody Malfoy. Who, according to the books Harry had, was part of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy. The same rank of the House of Black, of which Harry was the Heir.

Right, Harry was so far beyond over his head. He needed answers and, as far as he could see, there was only one way to get them.

Sometimes, he really wished his life was less complicated.

* * *

 

Catching Malfoy right after dinner was honestly easy. He just headed for the place he’d seen him last, which was the smoking nook and lo and behold.

The conversation actually went better than he’d expected. Well, except when Malfoy asked him about his opinion on Dumbledore. The truth is, the fact that Dumbledore simply _wanted_ him naïve and unaware for his own machinations had occurred to Harry during his wanderings. He’d simply pushed it off, shoved it aside with all the other stupid thoughts he had. It seemed so impossible for Albus Dumbledore to want to lie to him like that. But with Malfoy staring at him expectantly, his gray eyes curious and clever, Harry was faced with the fact that he simply couldn’t find another reason for why Dumbledore wouldn’t tell him the truth. Which just made him wonder; what was Dumbledore playing at?

It was that question, perhaps, that seedling of doubt and dissension with the man Harry had thought was looking out for him, that made him ask Malfoy for help. He hadn’t planned on it, but there was no one else for him to ask. Harry didn’t know what he’d do about the situation with Sirius ( _his father_ ), but he could at least get answers about what he his titles meant.

Answers had never seemed like something so important before, but now they were in his reach and Harry found himself wanting them, _needing_ them. How many times had he been told something and never looked into it, he wondered? If Dumbledore had lied about this (even if the lie was just by omission) then what else had he lied about? So Harry had asked Malfoy for help, and he pushed aside all questions about Malfoy’s motives because Harry was using him so who cared if Malfoy was using Harry?

Even if he did feel like he had sold his soul for lessons in conduct and comportment with his archrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	5. Un Heritier Tres Ancien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have the next chapter 'cause my beta is a slave driver. Also, this should be obvious by now, but in case it wasn't, this is an AU. I know it hasn't been in the tags (mostly cause I forgot) but I'll add it in now. *Most* of what happened in the first three books are the same, but not all. The minor changes and details will be revealed along the way, but for now it should really just be noted that Lucius Malfoy was accused of blackmail and threats to the school board, but didn't actually lose his seat on it.   
> HUGE SHOUT OUT TO THE COMMENTERS! I love reading what you guys are thinking and I just want to tell you all how much it means to me that you're taking the time to comment.

#  **Thursday, November 10 th, 1994**

Harry approached the meeting spot with no little trepidation. He was meeting Draco Malfoy for lessons in conduct and, more than likely, snobbishness. So much for this being an uneventful year, especially considering that horrid article Rita Skeeter released that morning.

As he wasn’t sure about Malfoy’s eating habits, Harry had assumed he’d get there first and be forced to wait for the Slytherin. Thus, he was surprised when he turned the corner and found Malfoy already sitting down, a book in his lap and no cigarette to be seen, for once.

“Malfoy.”

“The proper way to greet someone that you’re not friends with is ‘well met’. For example; well met, Potter. Notice I don’t add a title, that’s because we’ve spent enough time together, even if it was as enemies, that it’d be too formal for me to use your title. If we hadn’t had any prior encounters besides a basic introduction, I’d address you as ‘Heir Potter’ until given permission to drop the formality.” So they were getting right into this. Joy.

Malfoy was giving him an expectant look so he said dutifully, “Well met, Malfoy.” Malfoy nodded so Harry dropped into the seat across from him, earning a sneer but Harry went on before Malfoy could bring up whatever new nastiness he had in mind. “You’ve never said that to me before, why not?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and mumbled something that Harry thought was “Daft Gryffindors” but ignored. See, he could be polite and avoid confrontation. Sometimes.

“The reason,” Malfoy continued louder, “Is that to forgo the polite greeting is a direct snub. It’s considered very rude. Not that you registered that over the years, mind you.” Harry nodded again, leaning back against the wall and getting comfortable.

Malfoy sneered again but Harry didn’t think he’d get away with ignoring this one so he asked, “What, Malfoy?”

“While I realize now that you’ve never had any lessons in comportment, your posture is so atrocious that I wonder if you were raised by wolves.”

“No, just muggles,” Harry shot back, “But I suppose there’s no difference between the two for you.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, seemed to realize whatever he was about to say would just devolve the situation further, and closed it with a snap. Even while he glared at Harry, Malfoy just took a few deep breaths to calm himself. When he spoke again, it was slow and quiet, and Harry wondered how close Malfoy was to just snapping and drawing his wand. Probably as close as Harry was.

“I’m going to begin by teaching you posture and the traditional greetings for the various ranks. I expect even you’ll be able to handle that much?” Harry pursed his lips and contemplated just calling quits to this right now and storming off. The prospect of Malfoy insulting him every other sentence while telling him he was a failure wasn’t his idea of a good evening. But then he remembered why he was here, that he wouldn’t have to do this if only people had been honest and taught him this as a child.

So Harry took a deep breath, much as Malfoy had done, and put on his big boy pants. 

“First of all,” Malfoy began, “Never slouch, always keep your shoulders back and your head tilted up. The only time your head should be bowed is when greeting someone of higher rank than you.” Malfoy gave Harry a pointed look so he sat up, placing both legs on the ground and mirroring Malfoy’s position. He almost wanted to stay slouched, just to prove he could, but he had been the one to ask for these lessons and they had an agreement. Harry would try, at least, and posture didn’t seem like the type of battle he should fight.

“So a Lord or Lady?”

“Yes. Or an Heir of a Most Ancient House. Or an Heiress of any rank, simply because it’s polite.”

“Wait,” Harry held up a hand, “Wouldn’t it be polite to lower the head for an Heir as well? Why only witches?”

Malfoy’s face twitched, as if he wanted to sneer as usual but managed to restrain himself. “Because,” he drawled instead, “Witches are a great gift. Have you noticed that there are more wizards than witches in Hogwarts?”

“Uh,” Harry tried to picture the Great Hall, “Yeah, a little. It wasn’t such a huge difference that it seemed important though.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, “No, I suppose _you_ wouldn’t realize such a thing. For whatever reason, two magicals are more likely to have a son, than a daughter. For older Houses, it’s also more likely for the Family Magicks,” Harry must have made a face because Malfoy said, “We’ll get to that later. Anyway, it’s more likely for Family Magicks to choose a wizard as an Heir than a witch, even if the witch is older. It’s actually improving, again no one knows why, but there has been a noticeable boost in the birth of witches since the last few years of the last war. It’s why you’ll find an unusual amount of Heiresses in our year. Witches are also important because without them our kind would die out. Which is why, when you greet one, it’s customary to kiss the air above their hand.” That was actually really sensible. Harry had noticed there was really no difference in the treatment of women versus men in the wizarding world, unlike with muggles where women were still fighting for more equal rights, but it had never occurred to him to question it. Harry wondered if Hermione knew, and what she would think of it.

“Alright, so what _is_ the proper way to greet,” he made a vague gesture with his hand, “Well, everyone I guess.”

“If at all possible, it’s customary to let someone else introduce you, usually someone that has already been introduced to all parties involved. When greeting groups, you always greet those of highest rank before moving on. Start with the Lady of Most Ancient Houses, their Heirs, the Lords of Most Ancient Houses, their Heirs, than move on to Ancient Houses and finally Noble Houses. Heirs always follow immediately after their Lord or Lady was introduced.” Harry rubbed his head but nodded along. It made sense, and wasn’t that hard to remember the order. He had a feeling it would get more complicated, though. Malfoy, for once, was glad to prove him right.

“A Most Ancient Lord is introduced as ‘The Right Honorable Duke-‘ first and last name, ‘of-‘ their House. If it’s a Lady, than she’s addressed as Duchess. Their Heir would be ‘The Honorable Heir-‘ first and last name, ‘of-‘ their House. If it’s a witch, she’s addressed as an Heiress. For Ancient Lords, it’s ‘The Noble Earl-‘ first and last names, ‘of House-‘ their House. A Lady is a Countess. Their Heir or Heiress is ‘The Good Heir-‘ first and last names, ‘of House-‘ their House. Finally, the Noble Houses are introduced as ‘Baron-‘ only their first names, ‘of the-‘ the House they’re from, ‘Family’. Their Heir or Heiress follow the same pattern.” For some reason, Harry had the ridiculous urge to take notes, but decided that may be taking it too far.

“And if there is no one to introduce us?”

“I hadn’t realized you were capable of asking so many questions, Potter.” Probably because he didn’t ask questions in class but was comfortable enough to speak his mind around his own classmates. Ugh, he was comfortable around _Malfoy_. What had the world come to?

As saying any of this was so far out of the question it may as well live on Jupiter, Harry instead said, “I want all the information so I can make my own decisions.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. He seemed to be searching for something, but Harry didn’t know what. The silence drew on, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. Having Malfoy analyze him like this was nearly painful.

Finally, Malfoy nodded slowly. “I was getting there. Keep your patience, Potter.

“A Most Ancient Lord will introduce themselves with their full name followed by their rank and House. Same for their Heir. For example, I’d introduce myself as Draco Malfoy, the Heir of Malfoy. Ancient Lords use their rank before their full names, followed by their House. As an Heir, you would introduce yourself as ‘Heir Harry Potter, of House Potter’. Noble Lords use the same greeting as Ancient Lords, except they only say their first name, and use the word Family, instead of House.”

Harry mulled over a thought for a moment before deciding answers were worth bringing it up. “And what about Heirs or Lords to more than one House?”

Malfoy raised a brow but answered easily. “It’s rare because Family Magicks don’t like mixing much, so usually if two Heirs marry, they’ll have more than one child so the Magicks can chose separate Heirs. In the event someone actually is an Heir or Lord of two Houses, they would introduce themselves with the one of the higher rank first. If both titles are of the same rank, than whichever title you identify more with would be the one introduced first.” Malfoy took another moment to regard Harry, but soon moved on to showing the proper bows and greetings. There were a few awkward moments when Malfoy had Harry act as if he was a witch so as to demonstrate, but they moved on quickly and both politely ignored the light pink on their faces.

Two hours passed quickly and soon Malfoy was standing up and calling an end to the evening. “Here,” Malfoy said, thrusting out the book he’d had with him. “It lists all of the Houses, their current Lords, Heirs, and notable family members. Memorize it for Sunday.”

“I didn’t realize there would be homework involved,” Harry scowled as he took the book.

Malfoy just rolled his eyes, and Harry wondered if he ever got tired of doing that. “You need to be able to recognize all of the important names. If you don’t want to put in the work, fine.”

“No,” Harry said quickly. He wanted answers, he reminded himself, and if this is how he got them, then so be it. “I’ll do it, don’t worry.” Malfoy nodded and turned.

Before Malfoy could walk away though, Harry reached out to stop him. “Uh, thanks Malfoy.” Malfoy blinked, and Harry dropped his arm quickly. He got another strange look from Malfoy, and Harry wondered if he was as weirded out by this entire evening as Harry was. Somehow, they hadn’t ended up attacking each other, and they kept the peace, even if it was cool and polite and so very, _very_ , strange.

“I’ll see you Sunday after breakfast, Potter. Merry part.”

“Merry part,” Harry parroted, because it didn’t take a genius to figure out Malfoy led by example. He gained an approving nod for his troubles, and was soon left alone in nook, the light of torches his only company until he made the slow trek back to Gryffindor Tower alone.

* * *

**Friday, November 11 th, 1994**

Draco did his best to push thoughts of Thursday evening out of his head. With Pansy to one side of him and Vincent and Greg on the other, not to mention the rest of the Common Room filled with snakes, it would be a horrible mistake to be distracted. Even if he couldn’t quite get Potter’s voice (or face) out of his head. Even if he did trust Pansy and Vincent and Greg had been pulling away lately.

It was unusual to ask about members with more than one title, especially considering it was such a rarity. Though Potter obviously didn’t know that, he was still far too invested in Draco’s answer when he’d asked. Honestly, Draco wondered how Gryffindors went around with their emotions just written across their faces. Didn’t they know that was the number one way to get taken advantage of?

“ _Draco_ ,” Pansy whined from his side, leaning heavily on his arm, “You’re staring blankly again, are you as confused as I am?” Draco allowed himself a single blink to bring himself back to the present. This was exactly why he couldn’t space out. Pansy’s eyes, so often described as simpering but hiding ruthless intelligence were far too steady as they locked on him. He didn’t even have to glance at her transfiguration paper to know that the line about being confused was hippogriff dung. Pansy Parkinson may not be at the top of her classes, and her wand work was often mediocre, but her grasp of theory was perfect and she had enough dirt on any given member of Hogwarts to get anything she wanted. She was, Draco considered, his greatest resource. And also a very good friend. When he wasn’t trying to keep the fact he had Harry Bloody Potter on his mind a secret, that is.

“I do so wonder,” he drawled, because he had to say something to both explain away his state and push Pansy as far away from the truth as possible, “What sort of fantastical idiocy the Tournament will decide to bring into play. Honestly, after these last two years, I’m rather surprised that the school year has been this calm so far.”

Zabini, having just entered, caught the tail end of Draco’s words and glided over like the ridiculous fourteen year old he was. He raised a dark eyebrow, his smirk taunting as he sprawled across the opposing couch with careless elegance that made him the center of most witches’ (and wizards’) attention.

“You call this calm, Malfoy? Is your sight going as well as your intelligence? I just saw two Beauxbatons students trade spells with a flock of Ravenclaws. Not to mention the way all of the Gryffindorks are throwing themselves at Krum. And,” Zabini said with a vicious smirk thrown at Malfoy, “Let’s not forget Potter’s little stunt.”

Draco leaned back in his seat, raising an unimpressed brow. “If you honestly believe someone as unexceptional as Potter was actually capable of fooling the Cup, then I’d argue you’re the one in need of a Wit Sharpening Potion. Perhaps I could brew one for you? I do so hate to see a fellow snake in need.” Draco smiled, the sharp one that made his canines shine and Mother said could scare children. Zabini’s smile didn’t falter, but Draco noticed the added rigidness, the way he reclined becoming a little more studied and forced. It was no secret that Malfoy was top of the Slytherins in all their classes, closely followed by Nott in many of them. Zabini, however, was known to have bad luck when it came to potions, beating only Vincent and Greg from the Slytherins.

“Oh, Zabini!” Pansy interrupted, leaning forward, her face bright and eager. Draco wondered if Zabini noticed the way Pansy angled her body between them, the way she positioned her arms so that they pushed up her modest, but quickly growing, chest. “What would the Ravenclaws and Beauxbatons students have to fight about? I thought they’d been getting along fabulously this past week?” Zabini’s eyes flickered to her, ran over her body, and smiled at her. Strangely, though, Draco didn’t see him sneer at her obvious manipulation, or port the vague disgust many younger Slytherins or members from other Houses did when she acted as a dumb girl with far too much interest in the rumor mill. _Interesting_ , Draco noted, _then he probably knows she’s not as stupid as she seems_.

“Oh, Cho Chang and her friends seemed to think the Beauxbatons students were far too… _loose_ , with themselves. They, understandably, took offense. I believe the words ‘hypocritical slut’ were thrown.” Pansy’s eyes gleamed, and Draco wondered what wheels her mind was turning right now.

“I heard her and Cedric have been circling each other for _weeks_.”

Zabini snorted, somehow making even that tasteful. Mother of Magic, Draco wanted to hate him. “I happen to know for a fact that Cho has no particular loyalty to Cedric.” But when Zabini had connections to other Houses, and better yet, knew how to _use them_ , Draco found it impossible to hate him completely. Dislike, of course. It was a given when it came to the Italian wizard. Hate though?

Pansy smiled widely, for half a second her vicious satisfaction over taking her face before she got it under control. It didn’t take a genius to get Zabini’s poorly hidden meaning. And the fact that he’d used her _first_ name…

“Oh, _poor_ Cedric,” Pansy went on, doing a wonderful job covering her voice in sickly sweet empathy. “I know he’s been after her for over a year.” Draco let them continue, leaning over for half a second to point out a mistake on Vincent’s potions paper, before tucking away the last of his own homework. His mind, ever a traitor, turned over to Potter again and he wondered if the dunce would actually read the book. It would be just like the _Great Harry Potter_ to think some extracurricular readings were far beneath him.

For some reason though, Draco thought he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

* * *

 

**Sunday, November 13 th, 1994**

After breakfast Sunday morning, Draco made some excuses that vaguely hinted at wanting to practice some spells alone and left the presence of his Housemates. They would, no doubt, construe this to mean he wanted to practice some Dark Arts and would cover for him if anyone asked, as he would for any fellow snake.

First House rule; Slytherin unity.

He made it to his smoking spot first, but it didn’t take long for Potter to appear. “Well met, Potter.”

“Well met, Malfoy.” Good, the dunce was learning. And he’d let Draco open the dialogue, as was proper. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. “Here’s your book back.” Draco took it, found there to be no damage and looked up. He made a gesture for Potter to sit (they’d discussed the proper procedure for such things the last time) and asked;

“Can you name all of the Sacred 28?”

Potter raddled them all off, and Draco was pleased to see he’d clearly studied the book as instructed. He was even more delighted when Potter added, “Houses of Fawley, Fleamont, Le Fay, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Prewett, Peverell, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin are all dead, though.”

Draco nodded but added, “Correct term for the Sacred 28 is dormant, because those Houses hold the title for eternity. And, technically speaking, Prewett isn’t dead, just unclaimed.” Potter tilted his head. Draco hadn’t realized he was even capable of nonverbal communication, as obvious as he was, that he didn’t even reprimand him for the way his posture slacked. “The matriarch of the Weasleys was born a Prewett. Her two older brothers died, leaving her the most direct descendant of the Prewett family. It’s likely one of her children would be accepted by the Family Magicks as Heir if they were inclined to stop being blood-traitors.”

Potter, predictably, bristled immediately. “The Weasleys have always helped me out and are great people!”

“And how much of that do you think is because Dumbledore ordered it? Or because they want the recognition that comes from having the Boy-Who-Lived openly allied with them?” Draco snapped back. Potter recoiled, his eyes widening and Draco wondered if he really had never considered that side of it. Draco didn’t blame the Weasleys, he had originally planned to do the same thing. (A small voice that sounded an awful lot like Uncle Sev’s sneering voice pointed out that he had also looked up to Harry Potter as a child and just wanted a friend as famous as a member of the Malfoys that would maybe, just _maybe_ understand what Draco had to deal with as a kid.)

Potter didn’t say anything, just turned his head away and leaned back against the stone wall. “Posture, Potter.” He sat up and glared at Draco’s drawl but seemed to take a deep breath and nod before mirroring Draco’s position like on Thursday evening.

“Can you explain about Family Magicks? I’ve seen a couple of mentions of them, but nothing on what they really are.”

“Family Magicks are complicated and often unique to each House,” Draco drawled, trying to channel Mother. She’d always taken over Draco’s tutoring and seemed to have the ability to force everything to make sense, unlike Father who just assumed that his son would understand what he meant.

“No one is certain how they work or _why_ they are the way they are. Our best theory has to do with the belief that magic is sentient, up to a point. Basically, after hundreds of years of magicals marrying magicals, they were surrounded by so much magic that it sort of… latched on to them. The oldest Houses are the ones with ranks, which is why Most Ancient and Ancient Houses always have the post powerful Magicks.

“Family Magicks are unique to each House. They tend to carry over certain gifts, some which are overt, like the metamorphous ability, and others are more subtle, like talents in potions or transfiguration. These Magicks are strongest in the Head of House, because the Magicks actually attach themselves to the magical core of the Lord and meld with them up to a point. They also do this, to a certain extent, with the Heir, which is how the Lord knows who their Heir is.”

“Wouldn’t it be their first born?”

“No, not always.” Draco drew his wand, and with a simple spell, began drawing in the air with a blue light. “If the Head of House has three children, all within, say, six years of each other, sometimes the Magicks will attach themselves to the second or third born.” He circled the second line from the Head of House he’d drawn, which he wrote an H under. “It’s traditional to present the Heir ring to a child at their seventh birthday, whether the Lord thought the Magicks had chosen them or not. If the ring denies them, then it’s offered to the next child.

“Sometimes though,” Draco drew another diagram, this one with the Lord marked with an L but his three children unmarked, “Magicks will skip entire generations and go inactive. This is what usually leads to Houses going dead or dormant. Every now and again, however, the Magicks will make a reappearance.” He continued his rough family tree until, three generations after the L, he wrote an H.

“If no one has been the Lord for over a hundred years though, how do they know they can claim it?” Harry asked, leaning forward and tracing his eyes over the diagrams floating in the air.

“A lot of times, they don’t. More than likely, there _have_ been Heirs for a lot of dead lines, but they’ve never been claimed because they just don’t know about them.”

“How can you find out?”

Draco raised a brow, amused at the open interest displayed on Potter. “I thought you were a lion, not a raven?”

Surprisingly, Potter didn’t take offense. “Personally, I’m more fond of chimera’s. Considering my personality, they would be more apt.” Draco found himself laughing, the image of a chimera with Potter’s face, the body of a lion and the wings of a raven too much for him. When he calmed himself a second later, he found Potter with an amused smile on his face. There was a comfortable silence for all of a second before they both seemed to realize what had just happened. Potter pulled back, his smile falling and Draco immediately sneered and sat straighter.

“Well,” Draco said, clearing his throat lightly and pointedly ignoring the fact that he’d just laughed at a joke by _Potter_. “To answer your ridiculous question, _obviously_ there are tests to discover lineage and if any Magicks are especially strong within a certain witch or wizard. They are, however, controlled by Goblins, as it requires a type of magic wizards don’t possess. Few use them, however, for a variety of reasons but mostly because they often come up with nothing interesting and are thought to be a waste of the hundred galleons required.”

Potter nodded, and when he didn’t ask any more questions, Draco moved on.

* * *

 

Draco found Sunday to be acceptable, even if there were several times when he found himself actually _enjoying_ Potter’s company. Which was just unacceptable. He was using him for his title and political power. Draco was getting the Boy-Who-Lived indebted to him and Potter was using Draco to get answers he so desperately wanted. The few moments of silent understanding, like when Draco had disparaged over the spotlights always on Heirs, or of honest amusement when one or both would make a comment on the sheer stupidity that surrounded them, were always followed by awkward pauses. Potter was continuously interested though, and Draco enjoyed having so wholly grabbed his attention.

Though it did make Draco wonder. Potter never really spoke up in classes, and he was always turning to the mudblood for answers, so it was surprising that he was so full of questions. Draco hadn’t heard him so curious- well, ever. Not even in Transfiguration or Care, where both the teachers adored him and would most definitely fall over themselves trying to answer their precious Golden Boy. Perhaps he simple didn’t want to seem ignorant? But if that was the case then surely he’d work harder in class? And he certainly wouldn’t stop the act in front of Draco of all people.

Regardless, he was attentive and fascinated with the subject, and was so engrossed when discussing Family Magicks that they hadn’t even noticed the time when the bell for lunch rung. Draco had stood quickly realizing he was starving. When he’d said as much to Potter, realizing only too late that it was friendlier than the arms-length he’d been trying to keep. Potter however, didn’t seem that bothered. He had even mentioned how missing lunch wasn’t an unusual occurrence for him which just confused Draco further. One would think the Golden Suck Up would be served on golden platters to match his shining goodness. For him to be _used_ to missing meals was simply strange.

As Draco returned to his dorm that evening, waving away questions of how his “spell practice” went with ease, he wondered if he could broach the subject of the Sabbats on Tuesday. After lunch today, they’d managed to go through the meetings of the Wizangamot and what usually happened at them. Sabbats, though, were often frowned upon and some celebrations even illegal. Still though, if Potter was this interested in the working of Family Magicks, it wouldn’t be too hard to get him interested in the Sabbat Rituals. If nothing else, it might be interesting to see his response.

* * *

 

**Tuesday, November 15 th, 1994**

Tuesday met Draco with a blizzard and freezing dungeons. Luckily, because Slytherin House had the best Founder, heating charms kicked in and the Common and Dorm Rooms were all filled with blazing heat from a hoard of fireplaces.

Draco went through his day as usual, feeling relaxed and calm for once. Without the stress of Quidditch practice, and Zabini suddenly pulling back most challenges and only appearing to exchange information with Pansy and occasionally speak with Draco on something boarding equal grounds, Draco found himself with a significant lack of anything to worry about. That was, until dinner rolled around, and he remember it was Tuesday, and thus he had lessons with Potter.

After Sunday, he’d pushed thoughts of Potter from his head, deciding worrying about him could wait. Turns out, he could only put it off for so long. Who would have thought?

The storm hadn’t really abated, but the path to the meeting spot was sandwiched between walls and mostly protected, so Draco hurried out after dinner, his cloak pulled up and heating charms activated. The seating area was dry and warm thanks to the charms that had been surrounding it since Draco found it in his second year. He was waiting for all of two minutes before Potter hurried in, face buried in his cloak.

Simply to test the waters (and how much Potter had actually been paying attention) Draco didn’t greet him for thirty seconds, letting the silence stretch as he pretended to read the book he’d brought. When Potter still hadn’t sat or spoken, Draco allowed himself a small, pleased smile and looked up.

“Well met, Potter. Please, take a seat.” As Potter situated himself and slowly emerged from his hunched form like some kind of human butterfly feeding off of warmth, Draco added, “That was very well done.” He was actually quite pleased with it, but Draco had never been big with verbalizing his emotions so he left it at that.

Potter nodded,  and sat up straight ( _he was growing up so fast,_ Draco thought fondly before he caught himself and immediately began listing everything he hated about Potter). He was just past _Friend Choice,_ when Potter actually spoke up.

“Well met, Malfoy. Thank you, I figured you might try something like test me eventually. What are we covering today?”

“Well, we’ve covered basic manners and the beginning workings of the government, so I thought we’d delve more into traditions. Specifically, the Sabbats and their significance.” Draco watched Potter closer, waiting for any sign of discomfort.

“Sabbats? You mean like holidays?”

“Bloody hell, no,” Draco snarled, unable to stop the sneer but for once not directing it at Potter himself. He _hated_ that someone was even capable of making that mistake. They were wizards and witches and the celebration of magic should be done by everyone, but instead they had fools like Dumbledore in power and forcing muggle holidays on them all as if _their_ culture was less important than making muggleborns feel better. “No one has told you anything, have they? Honestly, I would hex Dumbledore myself if I thought I could get away with it.” Potter shifted, but said nothing. Well, that was interesting. Was it possible Potter was finally coming to accept the fact that he was being played by his idol? Though Draco still couldn’t figure out the Headmaster’s goal, it was clear enough what he was doing.

“What’s the difference?” Potter asked, and Draco was pulled back into the present.

“A Sabbat is a celebration of magic, and the changing of the seasons and what each represents. There’s eight of them, spaced throughout the year. Each symbolizes something different and have different traditions, though most include a feast of some kind and gift giving is common on nearly all of them. All of them have rituals to help honor Lady Magick and the gifts She’s given us. They also help renew the magic in families and keep the earth strong and magic in balance.” Draco paused again, wondering if there was a delicate way of telling Potter this next piece, before deciding the Gryffindor would appreciate his brutal honesty more than sugarcoating it. “Most of the traditional rituals are also illegal.” A slight widening of the eyes, a slight stiffening in the shoulders, a brief shot of discomfort flashing across his face. Strangely, though, it didn’t last and Potter seemed to come to some decision.

“What are they?” Draco took a moment to consider the determination written on his face, the fire sparking in his green eyes. For half a second, Draco remembered the first time he’d seen the Killing Curse. He’d been nine, and found out the truth about Father’s loyalties two years earlier. Father had wanted him to understand the power that a wizard could wield, and had made him watch as Father had sent the spell whirling at an old kneazle they’d gotten.

Draco pushed away the memory and the bright green of Potter’s eyes and simply focused on teaching about what may be his favorite part of magic.

* * *

 

Harry listened intently as Malfoy lectured about all of the Sabbats. He couldn’t help but consider the boy in front of him though. It was… strange, this side of Malfoy that Harry had never seen before. Like something had been lit inside of him. His gray eyes were bright with energy, and he was leaning so far forward and gesturing his arms as he spoke with such energy that Harry was surprised he kept his seat. Not to mention Malfoy had never been this lax with his posture before. He looked almost boyish and, if Harry dared to think it, cute.

Harry very resolutely squashed that last thought because he was enjoying himself and he _would not_ ruin it.

Malfoy was clearly passionate about the Sabbats and Harry found himself listening fixedly. They were fascinating and Harry couldn’t quite understand why some of the rituals had been banned. They didn’t _seem_ Dark, not really. It felt like the Ministry just didn’t understand them and so decided no one would use them. Like Sirius.

It was the thought of Sirius, his godfather/father that had made him go on with the lesson, even after Malfoy had spoken of the Ministry’s views on such things. He was innocent, and yet the government decided to hunt him. Hell, even Sirius’s adoption of Harry was technically illegal. Harry might not know what to do with the fact he suddenly had a father, but he definitely thought the idiots trying to get him killed didn’t bare listening to.

So he’d let Malfoy lecture about Sabbats, their meanings and rituals and why they were so important. When Malfoy fell into a rant about Dumbledore and the Ministry pushing for muggle holidays, Harry hadn’t interrupted, just watched with slight amusement and a firm lid on the voice in his head that had suddenly decided to question everything in his life that had to do with the Headmaster.

It was dark by the time Malfoy slowed enough to realize curfew was in ten minutes, but the wind had died down and they both hurried into the school.

“Bye, Malfoy.” Harry flinched when he’d realized he’d dropped the formalities, and waiting for Malfoy to scold him for it, as he’d taken to doing anytime Harry slouched.

To Harry’s great surprise, Malfoy sent a wave over his shoulder with a distracted “Bye, Potter,” before hurrying towards the dungeons.

Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, ignored the whispers and sneers, and made it all the way through changing before he realized that he had a small, honest smile on his face. It was the first time since Halloween that he felt like he wasn’t alone.

And despite the first task coming up next week, despite the fact that he was probably going to get killed because of some plot no doubt concocted by Voldemort, despite the fact that he had Sirius and Malfoy and his uneasy feelings on Dumbledore to resolve, Harry had a warm feeling in his chest as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're picking up steam and soon we'll exactly what scene started this whole disaster. Hope you enjoyed.


	6. Temperament Dragonien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM BACK AND IM SO PUMPED. I just finished writing the chapter that started this whole thing (chapter 8) and I'm leaving for vacation on friday. if my beta looks over it for me soon, I'll probably end up saying good bye to my two chapter lead and just post both chapters I have written.   
> WORLD BUILDING NOTES: so something that I've either forgotten to mention or can't seem to slip in anywhere without it ruining the flow.  
> Clothes. So, in the movies I always thought that the "robes" looked like normal boarding school clothes with cloaks over them, which, like, fine. Boring. But fine. In this, however, classic wizarding robes are usually closed or closed top with open bottoms to show slacks. These are generally very tight fitted in the waist and chest but looser in the shoulders, so that you can move well without large quantities of fabric getting in the way. Sleeves are generally looser as well so you can fit a holster up them. So, for the sake of Hogwarts, there are two types of robes. The ones we see in the movies are generally worn by those poorer or muggleborns or just those that don't want to wear the tighter fitted "pureblood" robes. Said pureblood robes are black full body robes, usually closed all the way but occasionally opened near the bottom when relaxing. These are trimmed with the house colors and, the female one is essentially a tight dress, while the male one has a more masculine cut. So, keep that in mind when descriptors and stuff come up.

#  **Wednesday, November 16 th, 1994**

Dragons. _Dragons_ were the first task. Great, giant, hulking snakes with wings that breathed fire and would want to eat his face off like some messed up walking buffet. He couldn’t believe the Ministry was idiotic enough to make four teenagers go against _bloody_ dragons. Harry needed to talk to someone, needed to figure out what the hell he’d do. November 23rd, the First Task, was next week. At one point, he would’ve gone straight to Ron and Hermione but he didn’t even consider going to them. Not now, after everything.

Despite the fact that it was an hour past curfew, Harry didn’t hesitate to pull out the Map and activate it, eyes scanning past names he didn’t care about. Crabbe, Goyle, Rookwood, Crouch, Moody, all the way until he spotted what he was looking for in a classroom deep in the dungeons.

He memorized the quickest path, ended up taking two secret passage ways, pulled off his cloak in a swift movement and burst through the door.

Malfoy spun quickly, some spell Harry didn’t recognize shooting out. Harry side stepped it, didn’t even bother to question why Draco Malfoy was in an unused classroom in the dungeons, the walls scorched and what appeared to be straw dummies destroyed and littering the ground.

“How did you-?”

“Dragons,” Harry gasped out, wondering what he must look like considering Malfoy’s gaping mouth and wide eyes, all sense of decorum gone. “The first task is dragons.”

“ _What?!_ ” Malfoy slipped his wand up his arm, and Harry took half a second to wonder since when he kept it in his sleeves before he decided surviving a bloody _dragon_ was more important. “Explain,” Malfoy ordered shortly coming and standing in front of Harry. He didn’t grab his shoulders as Hermione or Ron would’ve, which Harry was grateful for because he _had_ to move. He began pacing as he told Malfoy how Hagrid had sent him an owl asking to meet, how he’d seen four dragons and Hagrid and Maxine discussing how the champions would have to get past them. It all came tumbling out in a long string of words, and Harry didn’t notice he was pulling his hair until Malfoy actually did grab him and force him still. He froze and stiffened but Malfoy only held on long enough to catch his eye.

“Shut up, Potter.” He did, with a snap of his mouth. “Breath.” Again, Harry followed the order, and Malfoy gave him some more space to breath in which helped immensely. Some distant part of Harry wondered when the hell Malfoy had learned to comfort him, and why he was even doing it. It was quickly over powered by the constant stream of _I have to fight a dragon_.

“How do I fight a dragon?” Harry asked quietly, when he could finally hear himself think over the chanting of _dragon, dragon, dragon_ in his head.

“You don’t,” Malfoy said. “Those two said you just had to get past it, right?” Harry nodded. “Then we’ll figure out how to get you past it. Tomorrow. You need sleep, and it’s far past curfew. Meet me at our usual spot.” Horror flickered across Malfoy’s face, and Harry couldn’t help agreeing. When had they become so… _amiable?_ Cordial enough to have _their spot_?

Harry took another deep breath because he could question his and Malfoy strange relationship some other time, and nodded again, taking hold of his fear and nerves and shoving them down until he could focus enough to thank Malfoy and say good night. Within a few minutes, he had the cloak on and was navigating his way back to his bed. It wasn’t until he was fighting for sleep that he realized Malfoy had used “we”.

* * *

 

**Thursday, November 17 th, 1994**

Draco forced himself to eat at his usual pace, despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to meet up with Potter and discuss the Tournament. Bloody hell, a _dragon_. Whoever designed this thing was a sadistic moron. Perhaps they simply wanted to watch a bunch of teenagers get murdered.

Draco wondered, briefly, if he should pass this information to Krum. The Bulgarians had taken to sitting at the Slytherin table, and Draco and his group were often with Krum and his friends, mostly because they had met during the World Cup. It would certainly help solidify their acquaintance into something closer to a friendship. Or giving the knowledge to Pansy and see what she did with it. Perhaps after his discussion with Potter.

By the time he made his way to his spot (he made sure to not think _their spot_ even while noticing quite a few suspicious and questioning looks. He’d have to deal with that soon) Potter was already there, pacing and muttering. He turned on his heel when Draco appeared, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“What do I do?” Ignoring the blatant dismissal of niceties, mainly because this situation was a wee more important, Draco wondered how his life had come to this. Harry Potter was looking to him for answers and reassurances, and Draco found himself wanting to give them. This was just to get Potter indebted to him, Draco reminded himself. He still hated the twat for everything that had happened in the last few years. Even if Draco was starting to think Potter only did it because he didn’t know better.

“You stop freaking out, for one.” Potter nodded, and whatever energy that had possessed him seemed to flee. He collapsed onto the bench and curled into himself. Draco took a seat- much more elegantly- and waited until Potter had a hold of himself before speaking.

“The goal is to get past the dragon, correct?” Potter nodded weakly, “Then you don’t have to kill it, which is a step in the right direction. What are your strengths? We’ll work with those.”

“Right,” Potter murmured. “Right. Well, I’m good at flying.” A part of Draco wanting to point out Potter was _epic_ on a broom, but he would never sink so low. “And Defense. I’m decent at charms and transfiguration, but nothing too complicated.” Draco could think of one other major talent Potter had, but to bring it up would no doubt cause tension. And they’d managed to get along decently for quite a while now.

“Maybe,” Potter went on, oblivious to Draco listing pros and cons for what he was contemplating, “I could bring my broom and fly around the dragon.”

“The only thing your allowed is your wand.”

“How do you know?”

“I looked into the rules of the Tournament when it was first announced.” Actually, the entirety of Ravenclaw spent three days digging up every piece of information on it after it was announced and passed the information to Lucian Bole, who had a Ravenclaw brother. Bole simply ended up passing the information on. “If you learn the Summoning Charm, you could have someone bring your broom and leave it near the stands. It’s a fifth year spell, but you should be able to learn it just fine. Of course, it might help if you used a distraction.”

Potter nodded, face scrunched up. Draco made a mental note to move on from manners and traditions to concealing emotions and manipulating others in their lessons. “The Animation Charm, you think?”

“Or transfigure something into an animal. Even a summoning spell would work.”

Potter seemed to consider this for a while, before he said slowly, “Summon lots of small things to annoy and distract it while I summon a broom. There’s a bird summoning spell, isn’t there?”

“The Bird-Conjuring Charm. It’s a third year spell, but it’s not much harder than the Snake Summoning Charm, which I managed in second year.” Potter glared, and Draco snorted. “Oh, come off it. That was years ago.”

“I was ostracized by the entire school!”

“Not my fault you decided to out yourself as a parselmouth like that.” It took another few seconds but Potter finally stopped glaring. Not that the tension eased, but it was progress. At least it hadn’t escalated. Yet.

“So that’s the plan.”

“That’s _a_ plan,” Draco sneered. “And it depends a lot on if the birds actually manage to distract the dragon long enough for you to get in the air, not to mention you’d have to outfly a _dragon_. You’re good, Potter but I don’t know if you’re that good.”

Potter threw his hands in the air. “Well what would you suggest?!”

Ah, there was that opportunity Draco had been waiting for. Now all he had to do was make Potter see reason. “You could just _tell_ the dragon to let you by.” A second of silence, another, before Potter finally said very tensely;

“What do you mean?” Draco didn’t believe for a second Potter hadn’t connected the dots, not with his apprehensive expression, or tight shoulders. Still, Draco knew he’d have to force this.

“Dragons are a type of serpent, Potter. _You_ are a serpent speaker. All you would have to do-“

“No,” Potter interrupted.

“Oh stop being an idiot.”

“ _No_ ,” he snarled, this time with more force. He was breathing heavily and his face was twisted with anger. “I will not use a Dark Art to get through this.” Ah, there was that escalation he’d been waiting for.

Draco found his temper rising rapidly, took half a second to try and stop it before deciding that he couldn’t be bothered. “Don’t be a fool! Who bloody cares if it’s a Dark Skill? It’s a gift you should be honored to have.”

“It’s Voldemort’s gift!” Draco flinched, before his intense indignation rose at the venom in Potter’s voice. But Draco couldn’t start defending the Dark Lord, not here and not now with Potter of all people. That could be saved for another time.

“It’s a Magick Gift and an amazing one at that! What’s so wrong with being able to talk to snakes?!”

“It’s Dark!”

            “You say that as if it means you’ll all of a sudden start killing kittens just because you’re a parselmouth.”

            “Speaking from experience, _Malfoy_? Or are kittens so far below you that you won’t even kill them?”

            Draco hissed wordlessly, before he snarled right back, “Unlike what Dumbledore’s propaganda would have you think, we don’t go around contemplating ways to kill small creatures!”

            “You’re a Slytherin-“

            “Oh, great observation, _Potter_. Has it taken you this long to figure out?”

            Potter went on, ignoring Draco’s acid tone. “And every one knows that Slytherins are as evil as you get.”

            Draco sneered, and leaned forward to catch Potter’s eyes. They were bright, and Draco wondered if Potter even knew he looked like he could cast the Killing Curse with a single glance. “For the supposed ‘tolerant House’, you all seem to forget that you judging us just for our House is no different from us judging someone on their blood.”

            “It’s not the same!”

            “Yes, it is. Tell me, Potter, do you Gryffindors have to come up to breath, or are you all immune to drowning in that much hypocrisy?”

            Potter was puffed up and red and when he opened his mouth again he choked out “Dark is-“ before his anger seemed to get the better of him and nothing else would come. Draco, however, did not have such an issue.

            “Dark is what, Potter?” he sneered, standing now and stabbing Potter’s chest when he rose much as Draco had the first time they’d met here. “Dark is evil? Dark is all that’s wrong with the world? Well guess what, Potter. The world isn’t written in black and white and Light magic doesn’t make someone a good person and using Dark magic doesn’t make you evil.”

            Potter finally gained his voice back and he snarled in Draco’s face, spat out, “Of course a Dark piece of scum like you would say that,” before turning on his heel and storming out.

            Draco allowed himself to send three cutting spells against the walls to release his pent up energy (Hogwarts took no damage, of course, but it made him feel better) before he too stormed out and headed for the Quidditch pitch. There was another hour before curfew and he would take full advantage of it to lose himself in the clouds and force thoughts of stubborn, blind Gryffindors from his mind.

            He told himself the entire way that he wasn’t hurt by Potter’s dismissal, but it sounded like a lie even to him.

 

* * *

 

            Harry couldn’t believe Malfoy. No, that wasn’t quite true. What had been said was so perfectly Malfoy that he should’ve seen it coming. Which was what was really making him angry. He couldn’t believe he had thought he could have a relationship with Malfoy outside of visceral hatred. What had he been thinking, that they could be allies? _Friends_?

            Harry scoffed and scuffed his boot against the floor as he made his way back up Gryffindor tower. Malfoy had been the only one Harry had talked to since Halloween ( _Samhain_ , a voice sneered in his head. Harry named it Malfoy and promptly kicked it to the curb) and it had been nice, having some interaction that wasn’t being sneered at. Of course, he was a bloody idiot for thinking it could last. _Malfoy’s a bigot and a git and I hate him_ , he thought sourly.

            He was pulled out of his bitter thoughts when Mad Eye Moody stepped in front of him, seemingly from out of nowhere. As it was before curfew, Harry hadn’t thought to bring out the Map and was clearly too distracted to watch his surroundings.

            “Potter,” he said gruffly, running his good eye over him while his blue one rolled in its socket. “Walk with me, boy.”

            Stomping down on his hatred of the word _boy_ , Harry nodded obediently and said, “Yes, Professor.” They had walked all of three seconds before Moody spoke again.

            “The First Task is coming up. Do you have a plan for it?”

            Eyeing him from his periphery, Harry wondered how to answer that. He liked Moody, he was probably his favorite Defense teacher (even better than Remus, as much as he hated to think it) because he never tried to sugar coat anything and was honest about what was out there. It was a nice change from the secrecy everyone else seemed to live by, especially considering recent findings.

            Still, there was something off about him. He was gruff, and rude, and paranoid which fit with what Harry had been told, but there were also times where he just wasn’t _right_. Like he wanted to make an expression that didn’t fit his face. Mostly, Harry chalked this up to all the scaring.

            “We aren’t supposed to get help from Professors, sir.” Which, considering Hagrid, was a rule Harry had already broken. Not that Professor Moody needed to know that.

            Moody made a sound that turned into a guffaw but seemed to want to be a snort. It almost reminded Harry of the Slytherins, who always seemed to express amusement through snorts and snickers and smirks. Which was clearly a sign that Malfoy was distracting him because Moody had been a Hufflepuff.

            “Cheating is a Triwizard Tournament tradition, Potter.”

            Considering Madam Maxine and Headmaster Karkaroff, that wasn’t actually surprising. “I have a plan, sir. I just need to practice a few charms and I’ll be all set.” Moody looked surprised for a moment but seemed to accept this.

            “All right then.” Without another word, he turned and walked off, the _clunk, clunk_ of his wooden leg echoing in the hall.

Harry made his way to his dorm, ignored his housemates as was his new tradition, and changed quickly. This had become his ritual since Halloween, which was why he was rather surprised when a knock sounded at his door.

            He opened it only to find two familiar sets of red hair.

            “Hello Harrikens.”

            “Lovely evening.”

            “Hope you don’t mind us popping in.”

            “We’d love to talk.” Harry stared blankly at Fred and George before stepping aside and letting them in silently.

            They all took seats on various beds and Harry waited for them to say whatever it was that had driven them to come here. He liked the twins, but he wasn’t really close to them. Harry thought they could get along, but there was a bit of a rift between the twins and Ron and he’d never wanted to get in the middle of it. Still, George and Fred seemed to communicate through a single glance before one of them spoke.

            “Look, Harry,” the fact that they used his real name was the first clue that this was serious, “We’ve noticed Ron being a git and we just wanted to bring it up.”

            “Yeah, thought we should tell you that just ‘cause he’s an idiot to humongous proportions not all of us are.”

            “We know that you didn’t put your name in the Goblet and we just wanted you to know that we’ll help you with anything. Prankster’s honor.” The second twin snickered and smirked. Clearly the seriousness had timed out.

            “I hadn’t realized a Prankster’s honor meant much, Gred.”

            “I take offense, Feorge. I have plenty of honor.”

            Before they could devolve further, Harry smiled and said, “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.” And he did. He hadn’t spent enough time to be able to tell which was George and which was Fred, but he knew enough to be able to tell one from the other. The first one to speak, was always a little more forward than the other. To be honest, Harry wished he could tell them apart better, because to have them always mixed up and just dismissed as identical, as nearly the _same person_ , reminded him a bit too much of all the times the Dursleys just relegated him to being no more than a piece of furniture. It was never alright to dismiss a person as less than what they were.

            _Oh, but all Slytherins are_ slimy _, aren’t they? There’s that famous Gryffindor hypocrisy._ Oh look, the Malfoy voice was back. Harry would seriously have to do something about that, especially considering it almost had a point.

            “Actually,” Harry said, because he had to distract himself. “I need to learn the Summoning Charm. Think you could teach me, say, Sunday after breakfast?” Some may call Harry petty, but Sunday really was the best time to practice. And it wasn’t like Harry would be meeting up with Malfoy again. _That_ had clearly ended in flames, just like he should’ve known it would. Besides, the twins would never suggest he do something as evil as use a Dark Skill.

            Worryingly, both Weasley’s looked delighted.

            “Happy to, Harrikens.”

            “Might find time to teach you-“

            “A few other tricks as well.”

            “Nothing to worry about.”

            “’Course not. We’ll make sure you’re ready-“

            “For your big debut as Champion.”

            Strangely enough, Harry was only _slightly_ apprehensive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think.


	7. Realisations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter updates today, so be sure to check out chapter 8. There's a bunch of Notes and things at the end of chapter 8, so please be sure to check those out.

#  **November 18** **th** **-19** **th** **, 1994**

Harry floated through the next two days, mind running. He found himself coming to the uncomfortable realization that he had become used to the thought of meeting up with Malfoy. Harry had been miserable after Halloween, constantly alone and aware of it. The attacks from every side didn’t allow him to forget. But somewhere along the way, Malfoy had become an escape, without him even realizing it. Three days a week, he had somewhere to go, someone to keep him company, and he’d attached himself to it with such a grip that to have that suddenly yanked away, to be so very  _ aware _ that he and Malfoy would no longer be meeting, felt like being dumped into the Black Lake. The attacks, the desertion, they all suddenly felt very vivid where before they had sunk into the bland background.

Harry hated it.

To have someone to lean on- even if he hadn’t realized he was leaning on Malfoy- had helped. Especially with the thought of the First Task looming. Harry tried to distract himself by throwing himself into practicing the Bird-Conjuring Charm. It was simple, but Harry thought that he might be able to change the size of the birds by summoning something besides normal songbirds. He’d looked over the theory, and you had to visualize the birds you wanted to summon. Most did something small and simple, but in  _ theory _ , any bird could be conjured. Of course, it was all theory, which Harry was horrible at.

Saturday, when he had finally managed a single casting of the Bird-Conjuring Charm using ravens (not quite as large as the eagles he wanted, but bigger than anything else he’d managed) he finally took a break and his thoughts turned to the other big issue; Sirius Black, his father.

_ Father _ . The word held so much. Hope and love, disappointment and loss, confusion and betrayal. Harry hadn’t been able to unpack it all, not with everything going on. But… Sirius hadn’t sent him a letter yet, keeping his promise from the Shack and giving Harry space. Honestly, he wasn’t sure whether he was thankful or disappointed. He knew Sirius deserved an answer, one way or the other, but he didn’t know what to say. What to do. If this had been last month, or last year, he would’ve gone straight to Ron and Hermione to figure it out. But they had turned on him, and he was angry at them for it, and he had no one else. (Malfoy flashed through his mind before he stomped the image out.)

It had been weeks, and Harry had no doubt that Sirius was probably biting at the bit to get moving, to have an answer. He was also self aware enough to know that he had been pushing this off, ignoring it in some vain hope that the answer would come to him.

Strangely enough, the answer did come to him. Or perhaps it had always been there and he had been so far into denial it had been hidden under a sand dune.

Entering the Library after lunch to return the two books from the genealogy section, he weaved through the stack and into the back. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but there was another book here that may have interesting information.

It was the work of a minute to find what he was looking for.  _ The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black _ . The tome was thicker than the Potter one, and just as old, but the crest on this one was a simple shield, the top done in red, scattered with golden stars and a hand holding a wand, while the bottom had three ravens on a field of white. The words,  _ Toujour Pur _ , were written in black.

The pages seemed to release a breath as they were turned, and Harry soon found himself lost in the dark script.

* * *

 

_ The truth of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is known only to those of the family, as only their Grimoire, a tradition held within Most Ancient Houses and a few Ancient ones, tells the entire history. There are, however, a few facts known to the public. _

_ While the Blacks have never released an official history to be recorded and given to the community, other first hand accounts tell us that they came from France to Britain in Lady Magick’s year, Eight-Hundred-Forty-Five, shortly after Ragnar and his Vikings sacked Paris. Rumors claim that they were running from prosecution, though for what is unknown. Anything that comes before this time has been lost to British knowledge, though their Most Ancient family line has been recorded since then. _

_ When Lord Altair Noir come to this soil, he had his wife, his two teenage sons, and what few possessions they had managed to bring. By the time Lord Altair had passed and his title went to his eldest son, Canopus, the House name had been turned to Black, they had created a Holding in western Britain, and they were quickly gaining power and notoriety. When Lady Magick’s year, Nine-Hundred-Ninety-Seven began, they joined the twenty-seven other powerful Houses and formed the Wise Men’s Council. _

_ The House crest, already formed when they came to Britain, suggests power and mystery with the ravens and wand, while the stars they are all so fond of suggest their belief that only the heavens stand above them. Their colors, black, white, red and gold, further symbolize power, mystery, purity, intellect and sophistication. The Watchwords of the House of Black,  _ Toujour Pur _ , tends to be considered a reference to their belief that pureblood and good breeding are important. _

_ All of these things represent the Blacks well, as this family is not only older than most, but it is also shrouded in mystery and questions, overshadowed only by their power and prestige. While the truth of before their migration may be lost, their name and importance is well known to all. _

* * *

 

It was a lot less exact information than the Potter book, but it did at least tell him a little bit more about why everyone freaked at the name Black. You know, besides the whole escaped convict thing.

Flipping through to the most recent branches of the tree, however, revealed a stranger piece of evidence. At the bottom, a few inches under where Narcissa Black was marked as marrying Lucius Malfoy and having one son, was a small note.

* * *

_ Updates to this tome are done at the Head of House’s request. As of Lady Magick’s year, 1991, Arcturus Black has passed and the Lordship is turned to Sirius Black, who is incarcerated in Azkaban for crimes of murder and treason. Without a Lordship claimed, or an Heir yet chosen by Magick or Blood, further updates are restricted. _

* * *

 

Which would explain why Harry himself wasn’t on this. Though, the fact that he was blood adopted (which was extremely illegal) meant that Sirius probably couldn’t ask them to put him on. Unless, of course, there was another way to explain Harry being Heir. Which was a very good question. How was Sirius planning on explaining to the world that a Potter was his Heir?

Harry paused as the realization that Sirius wouldn’t care what he had to do, he’d already decided Harry was his Heir. He’d  _ chosen _ Harry. Not the same way that Britain had chosen him, because of some ridiculous accident when he was a child. Sirius had loved him since he was born, and he’d decided that he wanted to be Harry’s father just as much as James. Wanted to pass on the Black name and title because Harry was precious to him, even when he’d been only a child.

Sirius had offered to let Harry live with him five minutes after they’d met. Had bought him a firebolt when he saw Harry needed a broom despite being on the run and having a kiss-on-sight status. Sirius had cared enough to sneak into the Shrieking Shack when Harry had asked, regardless of the risk.

Harry knew James and Lily Potter loved him, they had died for it, after all. And he liked to think that they would be happy there was someone else that loved Harry and was willing to take care of him. Maybe it was a betrayal, to choose Sirius when James and Lily were his true parents, and had died for him. But…

Sirius loved him.

Which meant there was really only one possible way this could go.

* * *

 

**Sunday, November 20** **th** **, 1994**

With his letter sent the night before, Harry met George and Fred in an unused classroom on the third floor Sunday morning. He entered the room, only to have his wand immediately summoned from his hand.

“Tsk tsk, Harrikens.”

“Gotta be more careful.”

“Should also note that this spell-“

“Is extremely handy if used right.” Smiling, Harry took his wand back when offered.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I have such great teachers.” Both Weasleys laughed and got right to showing him the spell. It took a few tries, but Harry managed it before too long, and George and Fred went on to teach him several other useful tricks and spells. He told them about the Task, and they promptly taught him Fire-Repelling Charms to apply to his robes when he entered the ring.

“Wish we’d had more warning-“

“Could’ve tried to create a fire proof Runic Ward.”

“Aye, been far more solid.”

“Runic Ward?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” the one he was  _ almost _ sure was George said. “I guess you never took Ancient Runes, so you wouldn’t know.”

“Damn useful they are. Also damn hard.”

“They’re what let wizards create more permanent spells and protections. The Wards around Hogwarts and the Ministry are written using Runes.”

“Would probably take us two weeks to create a Fire-Proof Ward though. Could’ve stitched it onto your robes.” Harry nodded, and went back to practicing the charms. It was an interesting concept, if nothing else.

When they took a break and snuck down to the kitchens for lunch (Harry was rather surprised at the location, but decided he’d seen weirder things than tickling a pear) he was startled when the twins spoke up again.

“You know, Harry-“

“No one would blame you if you decided to branch out.”

He lifted a brow, wondering why they were both focusing so hard on him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we know Ronikens is being a twat,” George said.

“Tried talking to him. Didn’t seem to do anything.”

“And Hermione is still mad at you for breaking the rules.”

“Wonder how long it’ll take for her to get over it?”

“And we just want you to know that no one would blame you if you decided to get other friends.”

“Wait,” Harry put down his pumpkin juice, giving them his full attention. “Are you saying you  _ want _ me to stop being friends with Ron?”

They shared a look, seemed to come to some conclusion because the one he was almost sure was Fred relaxed further into his seat and George took over completely.

“Well, no. We love having you around, but… Friends change, Harry. It’s a natural part of life. Fred and I used to be really close with Oliver Wood, during our second year, but then all three of us grew up and we drifted apart. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah,” Fred added, “Especially considering Ron’s the one that abandoned you when you clearly need him. Fred and I never would’ve stayed friends with Lee if he’d done that.”

So apparently they were both Fred. Yeah, Harry didn’t buy that, but what they were saying was a little more important than finding out which was which. “I…” He wasn’t sure  _ what  _ he was. Besides hurt, betrayed, and overall angry with his situation. Harry had turned to Draco Malfoy of all people for company, which was all kinds of messed up. Proven by Malfoy trying to get him to use parseltongue, a Dark Skill.  _ It was a suggestion to keep you alive _ . Maybe.  _ And you enjoyed your time together. _ No, not really. Malfoy was sarcastic and caustic, and an arrogant prat. Who just happened to give up two evenings a week and an entire day of the weekend to help Harry learn about wizarding culture.

He wondered what the twins would think of Harry learning the old traditions. Ron would no doubt lose it over the pureblood bigotry, which Harry recognized was still a problem. Hermione would go on a tear about the outdated, injustice of it. But Harry knew from his lessons that, while it was old, it was also a rich culture that he’d never even known he was a part of. The Sabbats sounded amazing, even if they were illegal, and he saw nothing wrong with the greetings and some of the manners that were expected of purebloods.

“I’ll figure it out,” he finally said, because he didn’t know  _ what  _ he’d do, only that the First Task and surviving a dragon was more important than working out his friendship drama.

Both of them smiled as they stood.

“Alright, Harry. Whether you make up with Ron or not is up to you.”

“We hope our brother stops being a git.”

“Come to us if you need anything.”

They disappeared, and Harry was left alone again. It was strange, how a single day in good company could lift his entire mood. He liked George and Fred, enjoyed how they didn’t blame him for his failing friendship with Ron. Harry felt like he could take the dragon on right now and win. Which was a ridiculous but true sentiment. He’d figured out Sirius, he had a plan for the Task. And while he was angry with Malfoy, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to.

* * *

 

**November 18** **th** **-19** **th** **, 1994**

Draco was pissed and distracted after his argument with Potter, something which did not go unnoticed by his housemates. Luckily, after hexing Millicent’s mouth shut for asking very loudly what was wrong in the middle of the Common Room, he was left relatively alone.

At some point, Zabini had stopped trying to challenge him and had turned to joining him when he was with Pansy. The jabs and taunts didn’t stop, but they were less acidic and more amiable. Draco didn’t particularly take offense to them, considering caustic sarcasm was 97% of what came out of any given Slytherin’s mouth.

What he  _ did  _ take offense to was Harry Potter, sheerly because the wanker had the audacity to take up most of his thoughts.

By all rights Draco should be forgetting about him, or possibly planning some nasty “accident” in potions. Potter was judgmental, narrow minded, a hypocritical bigot against Slytherins, and he was an awful blood traitor that clearly didn’t know the first thing about being an Heir or a wizard.

_ Which is why he came to you _ , a calm voice pointed out.  _ And look what happened,  _ he snarled back _.  _ Obviously, trying to teach Potter anything was a mistake. Though he supposed knowing that Potter was ignorant of his heritage, and that Dumbledore had evidently orchestrated it, was worth it. Never mind the time wasted.  _ Oh, as if you didn’t enjoy it, you prat _ . Draco decided to name that voice Pansy and ignore it, as he often did his conscience.

He had not enjoyed it. Potter always asked far too many questions, and interrupted Draco every time the ignorant prat didn’t know something, and then Draco would have to go on a new tangent because it was unacceptable that a wizard could be that stupid. And Draco would constantly be reminded of the twat whenever he had a discussion on politics or magics with a housemate, mainly due to the fact that Draco had to make a mental note to bring it up to Potter in the ineffective hope that Potter would one day learn how to function in their world.

He had not enjoyed their lessons, or the time spent together.  _ He hadn’t _ .

* * *

 

**Tuesday, November 22** **th** **, 1994**

Which is exactly what Draco told himself as he went out for a smoke on Sunday, after breakfast.  _ His _ smoking spot was empty, as it was  _ supposed to be _ . It was a blessing when he lit his cigarette and took a deep breath. Mugwort and sage blended perfect and relaxed him. He did the exact same thing Tuesday, as well.  _ His _ empty spot.  _ His  _ escape.

He was on his second smoke when his peace was invaded. Someone cleared their throat, and he looked up. A strange sense of disappointment filled him when he saw Pansy Parkinson standing there. For once, she wasn’t wearing her “stupid gossip girl” mask. Instead her eyebrows were raised in disbelief and her thin mouth was set in disapproval. Despite this, her voice was level when she finally spoke after casting a silencing ward.

“You’ve been disappearing an awful lot lately, Draco.” When he didn’t respond beyond his own “get on with it” look, she added, “You’re friends are starting to miss you, you know.”

Unable and unwilling to keep playing the Slytherin alliance game when it was just the two of them, and so very annoyed with the entire world, Draco snorted. “You’re my only friend, Pansy. Let’s not lie about that.” It was a little sad, but true. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were both the Heirs of their respective Ancient Houses, both of which were vassals of the Malfoys. They were loyal purely because they had to be, and Millicent Bulstrode, engaged to Crabbe since infancy and friends with both boys, joined Malfoy only for his name and standing. Being a Malfoy gave him the first step up in the Slytherin hierarchy, but his magic ability and, after second year, his cunning were really what had solidified it. Draco knew that if Theodore Nott ever decided to truly go for it, he’d probably manage to beat Draco, which is why he never bothered Nott and Nott never changed his neutral stance. Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davies, the other two Slytherin girls, had several allies and friends in various years but hadn’t ever bothered to try anything, so Draco left them alone. Of course, there was also Blaise Zabini but he was… well, Zabini.

Pansy, the only one he’d ever count as a real friend, softened and sat down across from him. He never saw her like this when others were around, face lax, eyes wide and understanding. Never pity, because no Slytherin would ever accept pity, but there to listen should he need it. “You’ve been distracted and upset since Thursday. And before that you would keep vanishing after dinner. I know perfectly well you’re training schedule and it doesn’t fit.” A question without actually asking. An open invitation to speak about what was bothering him without pushing him away. Sometimes, he really loved Pansy.

He took another drag, considering how (and what) to tell her. She was his friend, he reminded himself. If he couldn’t trust her, he had nothing. “Shortly after the choosing of the Champions, Harry Potter ran into me and we began talking.” Pansy made a mien, and he added, “Without cursing each other, yes I know it’s surprising. Can I go on?” She cracked a smirk and made an elegant “you may continue” gesture. Draco rolled his eyes but assented.

“Anyway, the peace didn’t last long because he’s a twat-“

“Naturally.”

“And I left after insulting him. I thought that’d be the end of it,  _ but _ , he came back a few days later to talk.”

“Oooh,” Pansy lent forward, clearly enjoying this. “About?”

“He… confessed to me-“

“Oh Morgana, he finally told you he was in love with you?!”

“ _ What _ ? No!” Pansy’s expression of delight fell, and Draco chose not to deliberate on why she looked so excited by the prospect. Or why that was the first thing to pop in her mind. Her disappointment didn’t last long, though.

“Did he finally come out as gay?”

“No! Where do you come up with this stuff?”

She shrugged, but her smirk was sharp. “I pay attention to where people’s eyes linger.” That was a horrifying prospect that he chose not to consider.

“I’m going to move on now,” he said tartly, “Please never put images of  _ Potter _ confessing to me in my head again.” Pansy looked amused, for whatever reason. Probably because she enjoyed making him suffer. “ _ Anyway _ , I was going to say that he told me he had never known he was an Heir to an Ancient and Noble House until he found a mention of it in a book.”

He took a moment to be smug at the sheer astonishment on Pansy’s face. She got the reaction under control a few moments later, but it was still satisfying. “But-“ Draco could practically see the wheels spinning behind her eyes, readjusting everything else she knew to fit this report.

“It’s known he was raised by muggles,” she said finally, face blank but attentive, “But he’s also Dumbledore’s precious Golden Boy.” Meaning that she’d come to the same conclusion as he had. Dumbledore should’ve been teaching him the traditions and had refused.

He hummed an acknowledgement and waited for her to finish analyzing all the sides to this. Eventually she looked at him and asked, “And what happened after he told you this?”

Making sure to take his time to draw out the suspense (his cigarettes really were fabulous for all sorts of things), he said lightly, “Asked me to teach him.”

A twitch of her brows, as undoubtedly she was more in control since his last shock. Still, she was surprised and evidently waiting for him to continue.

“I agreed, and we met three times a week.”

“Until Thursday.” He glared, unhappy she had caught his past tense but not really surprised. It wasn’t hard to fit the pieces together.

“Potter found out what the First Task is and came to me for help.” Let Pansy make of that what she will. He’d certainly wondered why Potter had come charging to  _ him _ for help, looking wild and panicked and nearly desperate for help. That was probably why he’d come to Draco, actually. He was desperate and the rest of the school was shunning him. Though, if he had gone to the mudblood and told her it was  _ dragons _ she would have stopped ignoring him to help. No doubt he would’ve accepted her back without a second thought, despite the betrayal. Sometimes, he wondered what life must be like as a Gryffindor. Simpler. But also more likely to be surprised when backstabbed.

“When he said he had to get past a dragon,” Pansy paled, as any normal person would because it was ridiculous to put a bunch of teenagers against XXXXX Class creatures, “I suggested he use Parseltongue. He took offence.”

She nodded, thinking over it all. “Yes, I suppose a row like that,” because there was no doubt of a row, not with Draco’s bitter voice, “Would upset you.” She glanced at him from under her dark lashes. “Dragons? For the First Task?”

“I already informed Krum.” He knew how she thought, and decided there was no point in trying to get her to ask directly. It had been the work of Friday afternoon, the only thing he’d done besides go to classes and fume at Potter’s existence. Draco had the distinct feeling Krum already knew, but he’d played it off and said thank you. Since, he and his friends had been speaking more with Draco.

She deflated, but nodded and fell silent nonetheless. They enjoyed each other’s silent company for a while and Draco was just about to offer her a cig when she broke it.

“So, when are you going to stop moping and apologize to Potter?”

He choked on smoke before sputtering indignantly. “ _ Excuse me? _ ”

She had the nerve to roll her eyes at him before leaning back. “Don’t be a prat. The color is all wrong for your complexion. We both know that the only reason you’ve been in a pissy mood these past few days is because you had a fight with Potter and now you’re upset that he hasn’t apologized. But you know what? More than likely,  _ he’s _ upset that  _ you  _ haven’t apologized.”

“That’s-“

“A great breakdown of the situation, I know.” Pansy stood, grabbing her book bag and looking him in the eye. “Look, Draco. We both know that you’ve wanted to befriend Potter since you found out you’d be in the same year. Which, in case you’ve forgotten, was when you were  _ six.  _ And we  _ also _ both know you’ve been a twat to him these past years because you were hurt when he rejected your offer of friendship. Which is  _ why _ we know that these past weeks of meeting up with him and teaching him about the culture you are so proud of was something you really enjoyed. Enjoyed to such a point, I may add, that you haven’t even noticed the fact that Blaise and I are on a first name basis.”

“Wait, when did that happen?”

“ _ Thank you _ for proving my point.”

He pursed his lips but Pansy could break anyone with her unimpressed, I-have-better-things-to-do, stare. “Why do  _ I _ have to apologize?”

She rolled her eyes again, but Draco could tell it was fond this time. “Because he’s the stubborn Gryffindor and  _ you’re _ the smart Slytherin. Now, I’m meeting Blaise in the library to study. Do bless us with your presence when you have time.” Her voice was so sincere and the ego stroking was so blatant that he snorted, but it earned him a smile before she turned and left him to his thoughts. “Oh, and don’t forget that he faces a dragon tomorrow!”

Pansy was right, and he knew it. Which just made it worse. He didn’t  _ want _ to apologize, mainly because there was nothing to apologize for. Parseltongue was a great gift, and Potter refused to use it. Not to mention Potter’s insistence everything Dark was evil. As a child it was one thing, but Draco would be turning fifteen this summer, meaning he had to grow up.  _ That _ meant that he couldn’t stand to listen to Potter insult everything he stood for. Potter should apologize for being a git.

But Potter was a Gryffindor. A stubborn one that had to fight a dragon tomorrow because some unknown signed him up for a deadly tournament. Probably in the hopes of getting him killed.

Damn Pansy. He hated it when she was right.


	8. Amis

#  Amis

**Wednesday, November 23** **rd** **, 1994**

Wednesday dawned, bright and cold. So, basically the exact opposite of Harry’s mood. He was jittery, full of energy that he knew he had to keep up if he had any chance of getting this to work. His nerves turned his stomach to a right mess and he had to force himself to choke down breakfast and a few bites of lunch when it came around. Classes in the morning were full of even more whispers and gossip, to such a point that the teachers had no hope of getting anyone silent.

When lunch finally came, Harry managed three bites before the stares and rumors about the Task got to be too much and he headed out. He only had half an hour before he needed to head down to the field they were using, but he’d make it count.

_ Distract with Bird-Conjuring Charm _ \- he’d managed to summon eagles just yesterday- _ summon broom _ \- he’d passed it off the Fred and George to hide near the stacks without being caught-  _ out fly a dragon _ . It’d be easy.  _ Or the death of me _ .

Honestly, he was leaning more towards the  _ death _ option.

The bell signaling the end of lunch (and his Walk of Doom) rang, and Harry turned down a side hallway that would lead him to the front door.

Which was where a hand flickered out of the shadows and pulled Harry into an alcove hidden behind a tapestry.

Instincts kicked in, developed over long years of being bullied at home and nearly killed at school. He found his wand within half a second and had the assailant pushed off him in the next. A quick Lumos showed that he was in a secret passage, with a familiar face in front of him.

“ _ Malfoy _ ?”

Silver hair shining and gray eyes closed off, Draco Malfoy stood in front of him, indignant.

“Bloody hell, Potter. If that’s how you react to someone wanting to talk, I’m not surprised you don’t have friends.” Remembering that his friends had abandoned him, recalling that he’d almost had…  _ something _ with Malfoy before they fought, was not something he needed right before he fought a dragon. The urge to blast Malfoy’s eyebrows off was strong, but he had to remember what he was about to do. With some effort, he managed to cool the white rage in him into a scowl and gritted teeth. He  _ did not _ need this right now.

“Right. Good talk.” He turned to go, only to stop when Malfoy cursed and grabbed his arm.

“Shit, Potter wait.” Despite wanting nothing more than to get going, his curiosity was piqued and he faced Malfoy with expectant brows. As he was expecting curses, insults, and more than several sarcastic remarks, it was utterly astonishing to find Malfoy looking uncomfortable. He was biting his lip, rubbing his left forearm and looking distinctly awkward and displeased with this entire situation. Now even more interested (and a little shocked), Harry remained silent. He caught, “Damnable witch,” muttered under Malfoy’s breath before the blond actually spoke.

“Look, I just wanted to say…” Petering off, it seemed Malfoy didn’t know where to go from there. He shook his head and cleared his throat before trying again. “Uh, just- I know you’re about to face a dragon and shit and I also know that you, being the giant prat you are, probably don’t even care, but I wanted to say good luck. And to tell you not to do something as Gryffindorishly stupid as die.” Malfoy added after a moment, as if realizing how all that sounded, “If you did, I wouldn’t have any decent Quidditch competition, Potter.”

Malfoy was… Malfoy was  _ apologizing _ ? Or, no, not really. More like he was putting aside their fight, because he knew there were things that were more important. Like tracking him down and telling Harry good luck before he went out to face a dragon.

And Harry had no idea how to respond.

He and Ron or Hermione argued, sure. And there had been a distinct coldness to their interactions after the parselmouth thing in second year, but that had melted away eventually. Harry had never really been in a situation to make up with a friend. Which is what Malfoy was to him, apparently. Someone he turned to when he needed help. Someone who came and supported him despite their fight. This was… strange, Harry thought. Strange and new and more than a little warming.

Harry and Ron and Hermione were fighting now, he thought. But none of them had tried to fix it. To come make amends, or at least put it aside for more important things. But here was Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater, and who, if asked in October, Harry would’ve said was his biggest enemy after Voldemort himself, telling Harry good luck and that he’d be sad if Harry died. Given, he’d said it in the most Malfoy/Slytherin way possible, but the sentiment was still there.

Malfoy was trying to show that he was sorry they were fighting. Maybe not that he was sorry for the  _ reason _ of the fight, but wanting to fix it, nonetheless. Malfoy was offering an olive branch in his own peculiar way.

Abruptly, Harry flashed back to the same memory from all those weeks ago. The one with Dudley and Piers and how they’d made up. Without even considering it, he stuck out his hand.

“Call me Harry, Malfoy.” The blond seemed startled, his eyes wide and staring at the hand like it had offended his delicate sensibilities. Which, knowing Malfoy like he did, Harry thought it was a distinct possibility. The standstill lasted long enough that Harry began feeling like an idiot, before Malfoy broke into a wide smile. It wasn’t as big or outgoing as a Gryffindor grin, but it had a warmth to it and lacked the vicious sharpness that was common in Slytherin expressions.

In a single swift move, Malfoy stepped forward and clasped Harry’s forearm against his own. “Then call me Draco, Harry.”

Startled into his own grin, wider than anything he’d shown since Halloween, Harry let himself indulge in the moment and the tenderness that filled him. Ma- _ Draco _ had explained to him the significance of clasped forearms the same afternoon he’d shown introductions. Handshakes were for business partners, political allies, distant relatives, and polite meetings. People you keep at arms distance. A clasped forearm, a much more personal and intimate greeting, was for close friends and family.

“I still think you can be judgmental and a moronic git,” Draco added.

“And I still think you’re a bigoted, pompous arse.”

 Harry thought this might be a friendship for the ages.

* * *

 

Inordinately pleased with himself, Draco didn’t even complain when Mad Eye Moody stomped down the hall calling for Harry. Making his way into the throngs of students as Harry headed for the Task was easy, though forcing his way to find Pansy and the others was less so. Zabini- Blaise since that morning- scooted over to leave room for Draco when he appeared. Draco was actually rather surprised at the Italian. He hadn’t complained all day and seemed to be generally content to keep the sass to an acceptable degree. Earlier this morning, when a fifth year had pulled a wand on Blaise, Draco had returned the favor with the others in his group following. When Blaise had looked surprised, Draco had told him that Malfoys protect their own. As Blaise was friends with Pansy, that made him Draco’s just as much as she was.

There was a lot less tension between them after that.

Forcing himself to remain still and outwardly indifferent was an effort, considering the apprehension and mass of nerves twisting his stomach. When the first dragon was brought out, there were several gasps and screams, though Draco noted that Pansy and, surprisingly, Blaise, only paled. So Pansy had passed it on. Interesting.

Draco cheered for Krum, simply because he was working hard to cultivate a friendship with the older wizard, and clapped politely for Diggory, because he  _ was _ a member of Hogwarts, even as lame as he may be. When Delacour stepped out, Draco was somehow unsurprised that Harry had managed to end up competing last. The wanker had a blasted sense of drama.

Overall, it came out how he was expecting. Krum was smart enough, but he was a more…straight thinking type of wizard. It was unsurprising he didn’t have the patience for a long thought out plan, and it cost him points. Diggory was the top Hufflepuff in the school, and came in the top ten in his year overall. He just underestimated the ruthlessness of the dragon. It was that Hufflepuff sense of fair play. As for Delacour… that was actually impressive. Dragons were resistant to enchanting and most direct spells, so to manage lulling it to near sleep was a great feat. Though it was unsurprising she didn’t manage to hold it longer.

Finally- and Draco refused to acknowledge the breath that caught in his throat- the final dragon was brought out. She was the biggest, the loudest, and when she belched at flames, it nearly singed Draco from where he was sitting near the top of the benches. Harry, the bloody Gryffindor, strode out standing tall and didn’t even bother sneaking. The dragon didn’t even hesitate in turning and roaring at him.

Some part of Draco tightened when he saw Harry summon a flock of eagles. It was rather impressive, considering each of the dozen birds was the size of a basketball and they managed to distract the dragon enough for Harry to summon his broom from under one of the benches. Still, some part of Draco had expected Harry to use Parseltongue, after their reconciliation in the passage. It was stupid, considering they hadn’t discussed the issue since they fought about it, and Harry clearly hadn’t changed his values in the last hour. Draco had just thought…

Something must have shown on his face, because Pansy latched onto his arm with a loud (and extremely fake) gasp, while Blaise knocked their ankles together. It was a touching show of support, though it made him wonder what they thought was going through his head.

Harry was an amazing flying on a normal day, and this was no normal day. With his Firebolt, he was so fast he was little more than a red and gold blur, weaving through the air. The birds had long since disappeared, but the dragon wasn’t leaving her nest, so Harry couldn’t get past her. From where he sat behind the dragon, Draco could see the gold glinting in the light, a false mockery of the rest of the eggs.

With a hoarse shout, Harry dived towards the nest, but the dragon was faster. With another roar, flame spewed, and she lunged, claws and teeth flashing. Harry pulled out in a snap, retreating to the air over her. Off to the side, Bagman kept the commentary up, wondering out loud what Harry’s next move would be. Considering their brainstorming session, Draco expected him to transfigure an animal or use the Animation Charm to lure the dragon away.

Which was why he drew in a sharp breath the same as everyone else when Harry cast sonorous and let out a loud, vibrating, hiss.

The dragon was silent, shocked like the rest of the audience. Unlike the mortals, however, she came to quickly and roared in response. Draco couldn’t understand her the same way Harry apparently could, but even he heard the anger. Another burst of flame chased Harry, but he responded with another loud hiss. Parseltongue sounded like little more than hisses and strange vowels from deep in his throat. It was nothing like what the dragon sounded like, but they seemed able to communicate, nonetheless.

Whatever Harry said must have been right, because the dragon turned and sniffed her eggs. She growled loudly and picked up the golden one in her teeth before tossing her head and flinging it in the air. With a dive that proved he really was the best Seeker at the school, Harry caught the egg before retreating out of the rink. The dragon roared and shot flame around before the handlers came in to get her under control.

It took several moments, but the crowd eventually began clapping. It seemed a strange mix of those who were glad that Hogwarts had done well and those who were uncomfortable with the fact that a Dark Skill had been openly used. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students were all whispering to each other, the latter looking intrigued.

Pansy, a perfect mask of surprise with just a hint of interest, slid her eyes over to him. “Oh my, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Neither was I. Excuse me.” Draco wove his way through the stands, ignoring the sneers and distrusting looks from the other Houses.

Harry had used Parseltongue. Despite his claimed hatred of the Dark Arts, despite the fight, despite the fact that he was the Boy-Who-Lived, he’d used Parseltongue. It was… something that Draco wasn’t quite comfortable naming. He’d done it in public. There would be no hiding that. Not now.

Harry had offered Draco his hand, in a strange echo of that first day on the train, all those years ago. And he hadn’t pulled away when Draco had grabbed his forearm.

Sometimes, Draco wondered how much attention Lady Fate really paid to him.

* * *

 

Adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Harry’s breath came in great heaves. His throat burned from the sonorous- turns out, Parseltongue wasn’t meant to be shouted at angry mother dragons. At least she had listened to him, when he’d warned of a fake egg meant to hurt her other hatchlings.

Though he wished she hadn’t gotten his eyebrows before he’d caught her attention. Draco would be so disappointed in his fashion sense.

Madam Pomfrey bustled through the medical tent that had been set up. Further in, Cedric- who Harry had told about the dragons- and Fleur Delacour were both being treated for burns while a liberal amount of cream was being applied to Krum’s arm.

“Well,” Pomfrey was saying, “There’s nothing much to be done. Just apply this cream before you go to bed for the next two nights and you should be alright.” With a nodded thanks, he stalked out, egg in hand. Outside, the stands were nearly quivering, everyone ready to leave but wanting to hear the final scores. In the end, the judges stood to give the scores. Karkaroff and Bagman both gave him tens, Maxime gave him a nine, while Crouch- unsurprisingly considering his vendetta against Dark Arts- gave him a six. Dumbledore took the longest. The Headmaster stared at him, long and hard with a faint air of disappointment. There seemed to be a question, maybe a worry, hiding behind the dimmed twinkle in his eyes. Harry stared back defiantly, head high, until Dumbledore finally released an eight into the air. Forty-three.

Bagman, ever the announcer, went through the scores again. Harry and Delacour were tied in first, while Cedric was in second with thirty-nine and Krum in last with thirty-seven.

Retreating to the tent, Harry listened as Bagman gave them the most vague explanation ever while his mind circled. Even with using a Dark Skill, Harry had managed to eke out a first place spot. The crowd had cheered, despite the obvious hesitation at the Parseltongue. Clearly, this was one of the days where he was back to being a Messiah.

It had been spur of the moment, when it was clear that he couldn’t get around the dragon. A snap decision that might’ve saved his life. He’d felt the heat on his arm (which was still tingling despite Madam Pomfrey’s administrations), and all he could think of was Draco grabbing his forearm, of the twins telling him that friends changed and that was okay. Of Draco offering him the solution to his freak out when he’d come charging to him in the middle of the night.

Harry had used the spell he’d seen Bagman use at the World Cup, and had thought of snakes and hisses and hadn’t questioned it when the dragon responded, even if she spoke more with impressions than real words. It had worked, he was alive. And he was in first place.

Harry hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to win until he was faced with the fact that he  _ could _ . Everyone lauded him as a hero for something that happened  _ to _ him, not because of him. He wondered, with a viciousness that astounded him, what it would be like for them to respect him for something that he’d actually done. How they would look at him if he made something of himself and  _ created  _ greatness for himself. Maybe than they wouldn’t turn on him so quickly.

This thought process, bizarre and unusual as it was, was interrupted by two familiar individuals.

“Harry!” Hermione slammed into him, her curls strangling him and her arms locking him in place. He froze, thoughts of Dudley pinning him to the ground, of Vernon throwing him to be locked in his cupboard, all circling like sharks ready for the feeding.

Within half a second, he’d pushed her off and took a few steps back. Behind her, Ron stood, looking uncomfortable and ill at ease. She frowned, but barreled on with the usual Hermione energy.

“Oh, when I saw it was dragons, I was  _ so worried! _ I mean, how could you have prepared for this all on your own? Did you know?” He didn’t have a chance to answer, because she continued, a hurricane of curls and opinions. “You should’ve told me, you know I would’ve helped you.”

Fiery anger rose, quick as a viper. Hermione had left him, same as Ron, just because she was upset he’d broken the rules so completely. And yet here she was, telling him…  _ this _ . “And when would I have mentioned it, Hermione? After the disappointed scowls and before the self-important looks?”

She faltered, unused to Harry responding like that. “Look, Harry…” When she didn’t follow up with anything, Ron stepped forward.

“Mate, we’re sorry. We were right prats.”

“You were.”

It was Ron’s turn to falter but he persisted. “We never should have left you to figure this out by yourself.”

“He’s right,” Hermione said. She stepped forward as if to hug him, but he kept the distance. Her eyes teared as she whispered, “We understand why you did it. We know how much you hate Parseltongue, and this was clearly a rough patch for you. We’re not mad, just wished you’d come to us before turning to the Dark.”

“I- _ what?!” _ They were telling him that it was alright. As if it was something to be ashamed of.  _ It was _ , one voice said, while another piped up and told him to hex their mouths shut. Perhaps the muggles had something right to the whole angel and devil on your shoulder thing. Too bad one sounded like Dumbledore while the other sounded like a cultured drawl that was slowly becoming welcomed. At the moment, Harry rather thought he preferred Draco.  _ He _ told Harry the truth, even if the truth was that Harry was a moronic git. Ron and Hermione… they had been his friends for years, been through so much, but even now they weren’t apologizing.

Well, they  _ were _ , but it was a different sort of apology then the one that Draco had made. This was the kind of apology that had nothing behind it. A “sorry” that they expected to fix everything as if it was a magic spell. Draco was a prat, and bigoted, and pompous, and Harry had never heard him utter a sincere “sorry” in his life, but his apology had been real. Convoluted and indirect, but  _ real. _

_ Friends change _ , George had told him. Harry rather thought it was time to take the words to heart.

Before he could do so, however, Ron looked over Harry’s shoulder and glared. “What are  _ you _ doing here?” Somehow, Harry knew exactly which cultured voice would fill the air before it actually did, and he turned to find Draco standing there. His hands were tucked away in the folds of his closed robes, his back straight and chin titled. Even with all his confidence, Harry could spot the tension in him, like a spring ready to unwind.

Draco ignored Ron completely, turning to Harry. Despite the three feet separating them, Harry could see how closed off and wary his gray eyes were. Regardless, he gave a small smirk. “Glad to see you took my advice.” Public. This was public and not at all possible to hide. It had been Draco that had suggested the secrecy, and Harry hadn’t wanted people to judge him further so he’d agreed. But this...

“ _ You _ told him to use Parseltongue?” Hermione bit out, “Well, that explains it.”

“I told him,” Draco said calmly, though the murder in his glare told a different story, “Good luck and to stay alive. Which is more than you’ve done.” He sneered then, and Harry knew that the disgust wasn’t for show. Harry wondered briefly what about Hermione disgusted Draco to such a degree, but decided he probably didn’t want the answer lest it was something as stupid as her blood.

“As if.” Ron snorted. “Mate, ignore the git. He’s a slimy-“

“That git,” Harry interrupted coldly, and was surprised when Ron stepped back. “Has been a better friend than you, in the past few weeks.” Ron and Hermione gaped, but Harry decided he didn’t care anymore. Friends got in fights, sure, but they didn’t  _ abandon  _ one another. Turning his back dismissively, he sauntered over to Draco.

“So, Draco, what did you think of the placements? I rather expected Krum to do better.” Draco, bless him, caught on and smoothly transitioned into the conversation. 

“While Dumbledore and Bagman both like big, showy things with little finesse, they’re each loyal to Hogwarts so it wasn’t enough to make up for the fact that Maxime prefers more artful plays. And Crouch hates anything to do with Durmstrang, so it really was a given that he wouldn’t get many points.”

Humming thoughtfully, Harry allowed Draco to lead him away. Soon, two figures, a male and female, both in green, appeared a little ways ahead. Draco gave him a sidelong look, something unnamed but hopeful in his face.

“Would you like to meet my friends?” Another olive branch. Another choice. One Harry wanted, he found. 

“Yes. I think I would.”

For some reason, Harry felt like he was stepping away from the past, and into the future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! So, due to my beta being insane and me listening to her, I just threw away my two chapter lead and posted both right now. This brings up a few things,  
> PLEASE READ- would you all prefer quicker, shorter updates, or slower and longer updates? Either way, the next chapter won't be for a while because I'm a) on vacation right now, and 2: I'm not entirely sure how I want to do the following chapters.   
> Second, I am on vacation right now, and this double update was really just to give y'all something while I'm out of commission for the next week or so.   
> Finally, a note on the writing. These first eight chapters have really been self contained to Draco and Harry as a way to set up their relationship and fast forward through till the first task and the point where Harry really starts turning to the Slytherins. After this point, more characters will be coming into play and they'll interacting with the world a little more. I may jump around with Perspectives some, just to give a more full show case of the world, I don't know yet. So expect things to become more complex and a little more all over the place.  
> THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT. Honestly, this is amazing. I always get a bunch of comments from you guys and I love it. Thank you so much for everything you guys, I love you all and getting the notifications for your comments always makes me smile.


	9. Les Petits Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure i developed a multiple personality disorder writing this. This chapter, as well as the next, are my way of showing time passing (I really need it to be Yule now) while giving what I hope is some good moments and character developments. Also, if you guys have any character you really want to see a perspective from, please feel free to suggest because I have several scenes that I don't know which character to use. I go back to work tomorrow so the next chapter will be slower but I hope you enjoy this one in the meantime.  
> This chapter is nearly three times as long as I usually write (21 pages to my usual 7-8) and also jumps perspectives a lot. And I mean A LOT. Let me know what you think of this writing style, because I had a lot of fun with it.  
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented with their preference, I love hearing from you all and it makes me extremely happy to know you all take a vested interest.

**November-December, 1994**

Pansy _adores_ the response to Potter leaving the First Task with Slytherins. It’s foul, suspicious, and offensive to anyone who actually cares about Potter. It lasts _weeks,_ and Potter gets plenty of chances to learn to dodge in the halls. In short, it’s everything she loves about Hogwarts.

Potter, as he wanted absolutely nothing to do with facing the school after his show of Parseltongue, brought them to the kitchens for dinner. (Pansy thought that hiding away took away whatever power he’d gained from using his ability in the open, but if he wanted to throw away any standing he’d improve, so be it.) Right off the broom, Potter makes an effort. The fact that it takes an effort at all for him to play nice with a couple of “slimy Slytherins” should be horribly offensive, but Draco’s quiet but steady joy at having his friends get along is worth it.

They cooperate, keeping their tones stubbornly pleasant and absolutely nothing like they usually are. Draco notices, of course he does, but he’s too busy keeping an eye on Potter and making sure he doesn’t horribly offend members of the highest pureblood class.

Blaise slips up, just once. Honestly, Pansy thinks it isn’t so much of a _slip_ as it is a _test_ , but Potter doesn’t need to know that. A single line, a sneer and insult more subtle than Potter has ever thrown around in reference to Potter’s abysmal posture.

“Judge my manners after _you_ face a nesting mother dragon, Zabini.” It wasn’t much, first years do better in the Snake Pit, but it showed he had claws and he wasn’t afraid to use them. Pansy spied the glitter of interest in Blaise’s eyes and knew she had the same look.

The next day, the fact that Potter had left the tournament with Slytherins was all over the school. The fourth years all got looks from the upper years, especially Draco, but no one was uncouth enough to ask outright and none of them gave in to the silent inquiries.

When Potter walks into the Great Hall, he glances over to the Gryffindor table once, before turning to the Slytherins. He catches Draco’s eye, and doesn’t hesitate another second when he receives an invite in the form of a tilted head. Draco and Blaise part like water, and Potter takes the seat as soon as Draco gestures to it. After exchanging greetings with Draco, he turns to Pansy and waits for her to greet him, and then does the same with Blaise. Her first because she’s Sacred 28 and part of British nobility. Blaise because, even though he holds no title in Britain and thus is _technically_ bellow Potter, he’s Italian royalty and only the Blacks could possibly stand on the same footing as the Zabinis.

Draco passes introductions with the rest of the fourth years and, when they get curious and lean closer, the older years and Quidditch team. Sneers, a few hisses and not so quiet insults come at him, but Potter doesn’t seem to care. His obviously fake but not disagreeable smile stays firmly in place. Not once did Potter break decorum or traditions. He was rough, clearly new to it, but he was polite without being weak, sharp without injuring. New to the game, but still a player.

Perhaps he had claws _and_ fangs.

* * *

 

Sirius Black was a lot of things. Lord, wizard, convict. Auror, Black, Animagus. Worse, because of his absurd etiquette and politics training, he knew exactly what all his titles were and what order to give them.

Technically, he was The Right Honorable Sirius (Orion Arcturus) Black III, Duke of Black, Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, member of the Order of the Phoenix, escaped convict of Azkaban, and accomplished Auror and wizard.

His favourite title, however, and the one that would never be in that list, was blood-adoptive father of Hadrian James (Black) Potter. He just never thought he’d get to use it.

Until, that is, a letter arrives on the wings of a beautiful snowy owl.

_Snuffles,_

_I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’ve realized something._

_Something shines brighter than whatever betrayal I feel at wanting to “replace” my parents, and that is the fact that I am desperate for one thing:_ a family _. In my first year, I looked into the Mirror of Erised and saw James and Lily Potter. It was the first time I’d ever seen my parents._

_I wish I’d gotten to know them, but I think they would’ve been happy that I was taken care of and loved. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, and even more is expected of me. I know it is._

_In the past three weeks, things have changed._ I’ve _changed. It’s scary, but I think change can be a good thing._

_I’m not the baby you decided to name Heir. I’m not even the young Gryffindor from first year or the one you met in third. I’m just me, and I don’t know if you want that. But if you do, I want you._

_Give Hedwig your answer whenever you’re ready._

_H.P._

He doesn’t hesitate to Summon ink and parchment. His response is quick, decisive, and Sirius doesn’t even bother waiting to send it.

 _I will_ always _want you, no matter what. I chose you the day you were born, and I’ll choose you every day till I die and beyond._

_Friday, midnight. Same place._

_Snuffles._

There’s so much more that needs to be said. So many things that Sirius needs to learn, understand before he can truly be a father to Harry. But that can wait until he has his son- _his son_ \- in front of him. Until he can look Harry in the eyes and tell him to his face how much Sirius loves him.

Friday can’t come fast enough.

* * *

 

Sirius doesn’t wait as Padfoot this time. He doesn’t have the patience for it, and this is more important than playing a joke. Harry will _always_ be more important.

When he spies a head of black (James’s hair was lighter than that, he thinks with a small thrill) he steps out of the shadows and drags Harry into a hug. Immediately, he feels him lock up, but he doesn’t let go.

“It’s alright, Harry. I’m here. You’re safe, I got you.” Sirius hates that he has to continue murmuring reassurances. He _knows_ what that means, that Harry stiffens and takes several long minutes to relax in his arms. Sirius did the same thing when he came to Hogwarts as a first year, and it took James’s casual touches, and Remus’s warm contact for him to realize that hugs are _normal_ , and someone who loves you would never hurt you.

Trying to put all of that into a single hug is hard, though, so Sirius draws back after a few long minutes. This will take time, and rushing in and killing whoever drove _his_ _son_ to this is not a real solution. Not yet, at least.

Another beat of silence passes before they both open their mouths at once.

“Harry-“

“Sirius-“

They laugh, but neither seems inclined to mention the hysteria in it. Sirius gestures for Harry to go first.

“I-“ There’s tension in his young shoulders and Sirius hates it, but doesn’t rush him. This is new and uncertain for both of them and the best thing for them is to take the time they need. “I want complete honesty,” he blurts. “I think that’s the best chance we have for this working.”

“Alright.” It’s a good policy to have, and Sirius will do anything for Harry, so giving him honesty is the easiest thing Harry could ask for.

It takes a few heavy swallows, but Harry eventually says, voice quiet and unsure, “I feel like wanting you as a dad is somehow a betrayal to them.”

A part of Sirius dies a little, but Harry had asked for complete honesty so that’s what he would get. “Your dad wasn’t a fan of the idea. He barely wanted you to have the Potter Heirship. Your mum helped me convince him.”

“My mum?” Big green eyes, so hauntingly familiar, yet unique in their own way. Warmth fills Sirius, and he manages a small smile.

“She was just as much as my best friend as your dad. A sister to me in all but blood. When I told her I wanted to be her son’s second father, she jumped at the idea.” Lily was an amazing woman, and Sirius feels an ache in his heart for his dead friends. His dead family. _No more_ , he thought. He wouldn’t lose anyone else.

He hesitates, before saying, “James and Lily will always be your first parents. I can’t change that, and I don’t want to. We don’t have to have a normal father-son relationship. You can call me Sirius or Uncle Padfoot, for all that I care. I just want to take care of you Harry. I want to get to know you and be able to listen to your complaints about homework and your girl problems. I want to be there for you because that’s where I should’ve been for the past thirteen years and I wasn’t. I wish I wasn’t on the run and I could go to your Quidditch games and meet your friends, but for right now, I’ll take whatever I can get.” There’s another beat of quiet, before he adds in a whisper, “I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

Harry makes a choking sound in the back of his throat, and Sirius panics for a second. Did he mess up? But when he looks, there are tears in Harry’s eyes and it takes three tries before he can get words out.

“I- I _want_ a dad, so much it hurts. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia-“

 _Petunia?!_ Sirius feels rage, burning hot and bright, flood him. _Anyone_ who knew Lily at all, knew that Petunia was the last place she would want Harry to go. But this really isn’t the time for that, so Sirius lets Harry go on without commenting.

“-hate me, and they hate magic. But more than that, I just want a family and I barely know you but in a grand total of the maybe six hours we’ve talked, you’ve shown you care about me more than anyone else and I _want that_ so badly. I just don’t know if I could jump into it, I don’t know if I could just call you _dad_ or even Father but you’re more to me than an Uncle a-and-“ Harry’s rambling now, and tears are pouring down his cheeks, vivid and clear. This time, when Sirius pulls him into a bone crushing hug, he goes with it, leaning fully and burying his face in the dark folds on Sirius’s shoulder.

“We can take it as slowly as you want, Harry. You have no obligation to me, and we’re not hurried. Whatever you want. I’ll do anything for you, pup. Absolutely anything.” As Sirius lets his son, his amazing, bright, perfect son, cry into his shoulder for the first- but certainly not the last- time, he means it with every fiber of his being. He was a Lord, and a convict, and a Black. But more than that, he was a _father_ , and that was the greatest title someone could hold.

* * *

Potter- Harry, actually, after their fourth study session- is a _Sorrento_ puzzle box. Mysterious, difficult, but satisfying when you took him apart. Blaise had yet to reach the _satisfying_ phase, so now he’s just annoyed. And amused, which were basically his base emotions anyway. Harry just increased them.

He was intelligent in the most indirect way Blaise had ever seen, and often couldn’t explain how he’d come to a conclusion, just that he _had_. His wand work was amazing, and Blaise was pretty sure he had even more raw magic than he used, which was curious. Harry was always uncomfortable when someone was clearly impressed with his magic, which made no sense to Blaise. If you had the power, _use it_. Don’t disgrace the gift given to you by Mother Magick. Their fifth study session together, Blaise finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop holding back!” There was a twitch in Draco left eye and Pansy’s quill fell off the table, which were clearer signs that he’d shocked them than if they’d started.

“I’m not holding back.” His face stayed stubbornly pleasant, but his tight voice gave him away. They’d been teaching him the rules of the game, refusing to answer direct questions until he could ask them without asking, hitting him with stinging hexes until he hid his emotions. It was one thing to be upfront with your friends, but he had to learn. He hung around Slytherins now, and any reactions would be used against him. Besides, they weren’t friends, not really. Harry was friends with Draco and Draco was friends with Pansy and Blaise was kind of friends with her and allies with Draco, which meant a whole lot of subtle nuances that he didn’t feel like dealing with when he just wanted Harry to _stop holding back_.

“Yes, you _are_. I saw you cast that Bird-Conjuring Charm with _eagles_. I saw you cast a Sonorous loud enough to talk to a _dragon_. The entire school knows for a fact that you cast a Patronus as a _third year_. Don’t fucking tell me that you can’t Summon something from your dorm.” It was more direct than Blaise liked to be, but sometimes you had to hit Harry over the head to get him to learn. Besides, Blaise wouldn’t be surprised if he could use the Summoning Charm for something in Hogsmeade. A Patronus, _as a thirteen year old_. Blaise knew Lords of Most Ancient Houses that couldn’t do that spell.

“None of that matters! I’m perfectly average-“

“You are _not_ , and there’s no use pretending otherwise.” Normally, Blaise wouldn’t care. In truth, he would make the assumption that he was holding back so Blaise didn’t get a good feel for how strong he was. It was something Blaise would do, and as such he would’ve left it alone. But Harry wasn’t like that, only a blind, deaf, donkey would think he was, and so there was no other reason for him to be holding back. Magic was a _gift_ , a blessing that you should be ecstatic to have. Something to be celebrated. Not everyone had this connection to the earth and the Goddess, some went their entire lives without feeling the rush of magic and power in their blood and Harry Potter was so, _so_ gifted he probably had enough magic for three without even realizing it. Yet he held back. He went through his school years with average marks and slumped shoulders. It was _ridiculous_ , and made Blaise want to send a Bombarda at his head.

“Harry,” Pansy says, soft and understanding in the wake of Blaise’s anger and frustration. She was so good at getting information that she always knew what the best way to do it was. Sometimes blackmail, sometimes understanding, sometimes disgust. Honestly, Blaise wasn’t even sure which of her emotions were authentic half the time. “Why won’t you use your full power?”

A flicker of unease accompanied by uncertainty and vulnerability passes over Harry. He’s gotten better at controlling his face, but Blaise has also gotten better at reading him. The vulnerability is what really makes Blaise understand why he’s hesitating. Blaise _hates_ to be vulnerable. Any Slytherin worth their House did. It could be used against you, it was a risk that could end in disaster. But what could Harry Potter have to be ashamed of? What could possibly make him hide his power, even from himself?

Harry looks around their small circle, just the four of them since Crabbe and Goyle refuse to hang out with a Potter. He must see something, must come to some conclusion, because he takes a deep breath.

“My aunt and uncle, the ones that have… raised me. They- they don’t like magic. Back when I was a kid, I didn’t know it was accidental magic, obviously, but I knew the strange things that kept happening were _my fault_. I just wanted them to stop so I learned to- I don’t know, push it away? It’s… _hard_ to just stop trying to be normal.” Every word sounded like it was forced, and his throat kept working. Oh, Mother of Magick, Blaise suddenly had a new suspicion about Harry’s childhood. And the way he said that, “ _stop trying to be normal_ ” as if magic was the unnatural thing.

“They-“ Draco chokes, a strange gurgle of rage coming from his throat. It was so un-Malfoy that Blaise was too surprised to laugh. “ _They punished you for magic_?!” Blaise didn’t blame him for his shock or repulsion. Accidental magic meant that a child was blessed, that they were a part of this amazing culture. It was to be commemorated, honored. Some families believed in corporal punishment, which was horrible but a truth of the world. But no magical family, no matter how low or Dark, would ever punish a child for _magic_.

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable and stiff and Blaise wonders if Harry thinks they’ll hate him for this. But more than that, Blaise wonders if anyone has ever tried to help Harry. If anyone has tried to fix what his _guardians_ (he wants to curse at the mere _thought_ of calling them that) had done. To deny your magic, to push it down day after day in self-preservation would create a block on it. Blaise couldn’t even begin to comprehend how this must have affected Harry, in mind, body, and magic.

“Listen to me.” Blaise leans forward, pitches his voice the same way he does when Mother makes him give public speeches. The way that draws attention, that _makes_ people listen. “Magic is a _gift_. A beautiful, wonderful gift that connects us to the elements around us and the very energy in the air. Lady Magick is the Mother of All and She blesses us with Her powers. Before it was made illegal, _everyone_ celebrated the Sabbats because it honored Her and empowered Her and in return, She kept our gifts strong. _Never_ let anyone tell you otherwise. You are a _wizard_ , and a damn powerful one at that.” Some would give anything for a drop of that. Some had tried and payed the price.

“Every time you had an outburst, every time you made something shatter in your anger, _every single time_ that your magic protected you, it was Our Lady telling you that She sees you, and She loves you enough that She has blessed you with Her power.” There’s something in the air as he speaks. It’s heavy around him, full of power and energy. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end and Blaise has the queer feeling that Magick is here, and She approves. “ _You_ are a _wizard_. You are one of us, Harry, and _never_ let _anyone_ make you believe that is any less of a gift than it is.”

Harry nods, and gulps, and his eyes are shining nearly as much as Pansy’s. Blaise doesn’t like to make speeches, prefers to stand in the back and make sarcastic comments. But this was Harry Potter, Heir of House Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was a wizard and Blaise wouldn’t let him forget that.

He also wouldn’t let Harry keep suppressing his power. Pansy and Draco would help, he knew. There was no way Harry would keep believing, no matter how unconsciously, that magic needed to be hidden away.

“Okay,” Harry says roughly. “Okay.” It seems to be a promise, somehow. There’s influence in whatever conclusion Harry has come to, and Blaise thinks that maybe he just had an impact on something bigger than him.

Maybe they are friends, after all.

* * *

 

Daphnia “Daphne” Hazel Greengrass was intelligent. More than that, she was clever. Which is why she was smart enough to stay out of Slytherin politics. The Greengrasses were traditionally neutral in most conflicts, always choosing to vote on legislation on a base by base case, instead of signing their loyalty- and vote- over to either the traditional or progressive parties. When the biggest players in her year were Draco Malfoy- son of a suspected Death Eater and most certainly a traditional in every sense- Blaise Zabini- the son of the “Black Widow” and part of the royal family of Wizarding Italy- and, if he ever got off his creepy ass and actually took part, Theo Nott- a scarier, more subtle and eerier version of Malfoy- you learned to stay out of it. Neutrality meant you could stay back and watch the big sharks destroy each other before stepping in.

That’s not to say she had been doing nothing in the three and nearly half years she’d been in the Snake Pit. No, not at all. Allies, connections, favors. All things she dealt in. Arranging tutoring for Peregrine Derrick of the sixth years with Marcy Belby from Ravenclaw, convincing Lucas Bole to get Firewhiskey into the castle to sell to the Quidditch captains in Hufflepuff and Slytherin, getting Felix Rosier indebted to you because you saved his right hand from a month of detentions, all moves on the chess board. Just quiet moves.

Which is why, when Daphne saw Malfoy, Zabini and Parkinson all forming an alliance that looked an awful lot like real friendship she was curious. When she saw that they were friends with Harry Potter after the First Task, she was intrigued.

When she overheard Zabini telling Potter that magic was a gift, she was hooked.

They were teaching Potter about their culture. Which meant Potter didn’t _know_ said culture. The Potters had been neutral before James Potter, Grandfather even spoke fondly of Lord Charles, which was a high honor. The Selwyns had been leaning more and more towards the traditional side of votes, lately, and Father was worried. Perhaps it was time to make a few more connections.

Potter _was_ turning fifteen this summer, after all.

* * *

 

Slytherins were Dark, and evil and deserved anything thrown at them. That, at least, was what other Houses believed. Whether it held any truth or not didn’t matter, because the truth was that Slytherins still had to deal with it.

Which is why their group- Pansy, Blaise, Draco, and Harry- were in the abandoned classroom they liked to meet up in, with an additional two guests.

“What the fuck?” Sometimes, Blaise loved Harry. He was a breath of fresh air, with his blunt, no-nonsense attitude he had going on. They were trying to get him to be a Slytherin, meaning more subtle and less obnoxious. In general, he’d been doing great, but when things were serious and it was just them, he didn’t tend to bother.

“It’s nothing,” Blaise soothed, at the same time that Tracy Davis snapped;

“Stop moving or I’ll leave you bleeding.”

“No you won’t,” Pansy added from where she was checking her nails.

In the corner next to the door, Daphne Greengrass raised a perfect blonde eyebrow. “Are you threatening her?”

“No, just stating a fact.” The temperature seemed to drop five degrees, simply from Greengrass’s blank stare. “Everyone knows that Davis is too nice to let a Slytherin bleed out.” Greengrass seems to accept this, as much as the Ice Princess accepts anything. Meaning, with a blank stare that made you feel like you were an unworthy slug who deserved to perish.

Man, the blood loss must really be getting to Blaise.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” Harry repeated. “I left you alone for half an hour.”

Draco, the only other sane one, apparently, sighed deeply. His clothes were rumpled, and his hair stood on end. Clearly, Blaise was in worse condition than he thought if Draco allowed himself to be so disheveled with others in the room.

“Harry, think. We’re Slytherins, the entire school hates us on a good day. Right now, they think we’ve brainwashed you and convinced you to turn Dark. _Of course_ they’ll attack more often than typical.”

“And this?” Harry makes a vague motion towards Davis and Greengrass, which, alright, fair. Harry’s been sitting at the Slytherin table every meal since the Task (when Snape made a few comments, Draco gleefully pointed out that there was no official rule forcing people to sit at their own tables for anything not the Sorting Ceremony. It was dropped, after that) so he’s met his share of Snakes, and he knows it’s not normal for the girls to help them.

No one answers for a bit, because this is Slytherin politics at its finest. They all want to kill each other, they all want to use each other, but at the end of every day, they are all _Slytherins_. Which means they watch out for one another. But that’s not exactly something they announce to the whole school.

Present a unified front, always. But that didn’t apply to unused dungeon classrooms turned into hangout areas.

Surprisingly, it’s Greengrass that speaks up.

“Slytherins are targets, so we make a point of having one person in each year trained in basic Healing spells. It’s always a neutral, and that person is always off limits. They help their year, and if something is too great for them, they pass it to the year above. The sixth year Healer, as seventh has NEWTs, trains someone in the new first year class and gives them books to study from. After that, the Healer is expected to figure it out and work hard on it. Tracy is the Healer for our year.”

“Pomfrey?” Harry asks, but it’s a token gesture at best. He doesn’t need any of them to tell him that going to the mediwitch is just begging to have questions asked and accusation leveled towards the Snakes if given the chance. Instead, Harry asks a much more pertinent question. “Revenge?”

“I thought you Lions were all about forgiveness?” Greengrass is as glass faced as normal, but there’s a predatory intent in her eyes as she looks at Harry.

“Lions protect their own, same as snakes.”

Harry really was coming along greatly.

Draco’s slips twitch into a smirk and he finally casts some cleaning charms on his robes. Pansy, the devil, gives her you-won’t-find-the-body smile. Apparently, not even Greengrass’s presence could keep her bimbo routine up.

“They won’t be bothering us for a long while.”

Harry nods, before turning and narrowing his eyes. “Body?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound as worried as he probably should be.

Pansy pouts. “As if I would be so stupid.”

Draco huffs, amusement dancing in his gray eyes. “They’ll be fine as soon as they’re found and taken to the Healer’s Wing.”

Davis pulls back, finally done healing the torn shoulder Blaise was sporting. He could’ve sworn her lips were twitching.

“There’s a Russian Crushing Curse. It slowly squeezes the targeted area, pressure equal to the spell power obviously. Aimed at the throat it does wonders.” They all pause, except Davis, and turn to Greengrass. She seems completely unphased by suggesting a spell that Blaise knows is illegal in Britain.

“You don’t usually offer spell help in class,” Harry finally says, the first to recover because he probably doesn’t realize that spell is all kinds of not allowed. A good attempt at a subtle inquiry on why she’s helping them suddenly.

“The Greengrasses are neutral, have been for generations. Same as the Potters, actually.” _Oh_. This made sense now. Greengrass always stayed around while Davis healed, insurance of a kind. Protection for her friend. But she never spoke up, never commented. But if she wanted to feel out Harry, maybe make a connection with him…

Harry blinks once but otherwise doesn’t react. Blaise is proud that he’s no longer an open book, but he’s even more proud of the positively _devilish_ smirk that overtakes Harry a second later.

“Why don’t you teach me that spell?”

They don’t sleep that night, but that’s alright. They all have History of Magic first thing (except Harry, the poor Lion) and listening to Greengrass share her extensive repertoire of spells while watching Harry- the best Defense student in the school, never mind his age- put them in action in a few practice duels against the rest of them is worth it.

And if Greengrass and Davis appear a few more times that week, no one really questions it.

* * *

 

They only had morning classes that day, so they’d been studying in the library when a sixth year Hufflepuff, skittish and sweating buckets, had brought Harry a note summoning him to speak with the Headmaster after dinner.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was because Harry had been hanging out with Slytherins.

Blaise had immediately leaned back, physically removing himself from the conversation as a bored façade slammed over his features. The first sign that he was uncomfortable. Draco sneered a comment about the Headmaster wanting to meet up with the precious “Boy-Who-Lived” and turned resolutely towards his book on transfiguration. Only the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

Pansy couldn’t even blame them for bringing up their defenses. Harry had been worshiping the ground Dumbledore walked on since first year. The man had brought Harry to this world, was his magical guardian. He was also so biased against the Slytherins it was surprising he hadn’t just removed the House from Hogwarts. Pansy had little doubt that Harry would listen if Dumbledore started preaching about the vileness of the Slytherins again.

Something tightened in her chest, and Pansy was startled to realize it was disappointment. She liked Harry. He was funny and sarcastic when he let himself go and forgot to be a Gryffindor. His very existence created waves in Slytherin and every time one of the older years sent a sneer his way, he had a response. Slowly, he was carving himself a place in Slytherin. She would miss him.

Wasn’t that strange? Draco was really the only person she considered a friend. Slytherin House wasn’t a place for friendships, not really. But Harry was changing that, forcing all of them to be closer, drawing them all into his orbit.

She didn’t bother hiding her evaluation of him. Greengrass and Davies were nowhere around so she didn’t have to keep acting like a bimbo, and Harry knew her enough to know she liked to analyze people. He seemed conflicted, something in his face tight and unhappy.

“He’s going to tell me not to hang out with you guys.”

Off to the side, Blaise and Draco’s disinterest became a little more forced.

“Probably,” Pansy told him, because he was carving himself a place with her and he deserved the truth, even if he was a few hours away from dumping them.

Harry looked up, swept his eyes over the three of them. They’d been learning about him, but Pansy was suddenly reminded that Harry had been learning them as well. Their tells. Something shifts in his face suddenly, giving way to determination and displeasure.

“Well, he can bugger off.”

Pansy feels her eyebrow twitch before she can stop it, and Blaise and Draco give him their attention, even if they don’t remove the blank masks.

“What do you mean?” Harry looks at her like she’s the idiot here.

“You’re my friends. Of course I’m not going to stop hanging out with you just because he wants me to.” Harry makes a face, clearly displeased. “Also, considering he’s been lying to me for my entire life, I’m not a big fan of his right now.”

The thing tightening in her chest loosens, and she has the absurd urge to hug him. Which is ridiculous because hugs ruin clothes and she’s not in the mood for that, ever.

“He’s not just going to let you ignore him,” Draco points out. “What are you going to do, exactly?”

Harry shrugs indifferently. “Lie to him, I guess.” Lie to Albus Dumbledore, just because he doesn’t want Harry to be friends with Slytherins. Just because he doesn’t want Harry to be friends with _them_.

“Don’t look him in the eyes.” Harry turns to Pansy, brows furrowed. Yeah, that was a little random and this really isn’t the place to discuss this but Harry has to know. He’s doing this for them which means he’s chosen them which means she has to take care of him now. “I can’t explain this to you, not here or now, but whatever you do, don’t look him in the eyes. Whatever lie you give, make it seem like you’re uncomfortable, uncertain. Anything to keep your eyes directed to your lap. If you have to look up, stare at the point under his nose.”

Harry stares at her a second, but eventually nods. “Alright.” No questions, no doubt. Just trust.

* * *

 

It’s wrong. They had messed up, sure, but it’s still _wrong._ Harry is a Gryffindor and he’s the Boy-Who-Lived, and there was no reason for him to be hanging out with Slytherins.

Normally, Hermione wouldn’t mind Harry befriending people in other Houses. It rubbed her the wrong way, that she wasn’t enough for him and Ron, but alright. And she’d even be okay with Slytherins in theory because that could mean helping them turn from the Dark. But Dumbledore had been frowning a lot more lately and he never tried to get the Slytherins to integrate more so clearly, he didn’t think it was something they should worry about. Maybe he thought they were too far gone or something. Either way, if _Dumbledore_ didn’t think it should be done, then Harry definitely shouldn’t be hanging out with them.

Which was probably why Dumbledore wanted Ron and Hermione to speak to Harry. Hermione would’ve done it anyway, mind you. Harry was her friend, her _first_ friend, and she didn’t want to lose that. But Harry was also really stubborn, which is why she had given him time to cool down and relax from the First Task.

It seemed, however, that she hadn’t given him enough time, considering the conversation went something like this;

Hermione: “Please, Harry listen-“

Harry: “I don’t want to.”

Hermione gasping: “Harry, don’t be rude!”

Harry, while rolling his eyes: “You lost the right to command me when you turned away just because you thought I’d broken the rules.”

He’d stormed away and she felt like crying. She hadn’t _meant_ to turn from him so completely. But this was serious, people died in the Triwizard Tournament (honestly, why Wizarding Britain was so idiotic she had no idea) and this was huge. She was used to him breaking rules, but this was too far. She had just wanted to show him things had consequences.

Clearly, Harry hadn’t done this, and she did feel bad for thinking he had. How would he have even gotten past Dumbledore’s age line, anyway? By the time she had figured that out, though, she’d already committed. Hermione decided to wait for a good time to talk to him, but he had disappeared so often, and she didn’t exactly have the Map. She had messed up, she knew she had. But why did Harry have to be so difficult?

Dumbledore would know what to do.

* * *

 

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore didn’t know what to do. Well, he knows what he _wants_ to do, which is retire to a cabin in the woods and study alchemy and research the Hallows until he dies. Or doesn’t. That last part really depended on how the Hallows went.

That was all as likely to happen as the entire school buying him socks for Christmas.

The issue at hand, of course, was Harry Potter. He’d been doing so well, following the path laid out before him. Harry was kind, caring, self-sacrificing. The perfect Boy-Who-Lived. Every day, Albus thanked the Fates that it was Harry, not Neville, that had to walk this path.

But since the First Task, he’d been different. Befriending Slytherins, sarcastic, turning away from his Gryffindors. It didn’t make sense. Ronald was a good boy, a proper Weasley and Gryffindor, even if he did have a strong jealous streak. Harry should’ve seen that, forgiven the mistakes of a child. It’s what any _good_ Gryffindor would do. Yet, here they were. Young Hermione had come to him, imploring help when Harry turned away from her again.

Albus did not _like_ to step in directly. But some things had to be done for the Greater Good. Like with Sirius. The boy was floundering, living in caves and abandoned homes. Albus understood he didn’t want to go to Grimmauld Place, but the townhouse would be useful to the Order (Voldemort wouldn’t stay gone for long), and it would give Sirius a place to stay. Even if he wasn’t allowed to leave.

The wards surrounding his office went off, and he made sure to call Harry in before he could knock. It was important to set an impression, to make sure Harry understood Albus was powerful enough to help if only he asked.

“Harry, my boy. Lemon drop?”

“No, thank you, Headmaster.” Why did no one want a lemon drop? They were delicious, especially with the calming draught they were mixed with. It was important everyone was relaxed when they had difficult conversations.

“Harry, I wanted to speak to you about-“

“You want to talk to me because I’m not hanging out with Gryffindors.” Albus took a moment to process that. It was rare for him to be interrupted. Young Harry was looking down at his hands, shifting in his seat. Clearly, he regretted his hasty actions. No matter, youth made mistakes. That was why they needed their elders to guide them.

“Yes. You seem to have made a rather large turn around.”

“Draco and the others are my _friends_.” Just for a moment, Harry glanced up, but it wasn’t enough for eye contact. Albus didn’t make a habit of mind raping his students, but getting a peak using passive Legilimancy often helped him understand them better, which in the end helped him help _them_. Strange, how Harry was avoiding his eyes now. Perhaps the Slytherins…? But, no. Why would the Slytherins warn a Gryffindor about such a thing? They were not fans of sharing an advantage if there wasn’t something in it for them. Besides, Harry would never take the word of a Slytherin over Albus’s own.

“There is much past animosity between yourself and Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry shifts again. “After Ron and Hermione abandoned me,” there was certainly a touch of bitterness there. But the apologies did not seem to have an effect. “I ran into Draco. He…” Harry hesitates, and Albus does not need to use Legilimancy to see his uncertainty.

“You can trust me, Harry. You know that.”

Harry doesn’t meet his eyes, but he does nod. “I overheard him. He was talking to Pansy about how he didn’t _want_ to help his father.”

“With what?”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t know. But I realized that the Slytherins don’t want to be their parents any more than I want to be Uncle Vernon. Everyone seems to hate them, won’t give them the chance to prove that they’re _better_ than where they came from. So, I thought…” Harry shrugs, seemingly done with his explanation.

Albus has long since wished he could help the Slytherins. It was a fact that they were all naturally Dark, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t change. He’d tried, in the early years of the first war. But Tom had gotten to them first, and to pull a child away from the path it was set to walk by its parents is a difficult thing. Severus was a special case.

Possibly, though, Harry could do what he could not, in the time he had left.

“You want to change them.”

“They’re my friends,” Harry repeated. “I want them to survive and be happy.”

“Not everyone can be saved, Harry.” Albus sighs, deep and heavy. This was not a lesson he wanted to teach. This was not even a lesson he had wanted to learn. “As much as we may want, some people refuse to change for the better. Some simply don’t see how they have gone wrong.”

“Shouldn’t we try? They’re just kids, like me.” True, so very true. And wasn’t it important that they try, at least? Perhaps Albus had forgotten that everyone deserved the chance to be saved.

“It is important that they turn from the Dark,” he finally says. “Things are not as stable as some would like to believe.”

Good, this was good. Albus would prefer if Harry kept his friends in Gryffindor, but it was understandable that he would devote himself to saving the Slytherins. It was important as many people as possible turned away from the Dark.

Albus dismissed Harry with a suggestion to think about forgiving the young Hermione and Ronald.

He released a breath, laughing softly. He had nothing to worry about. Harry would walk the path he was meant to, and everything would be well.

Albus didn’t care what _She_ had to say about it. The Olde Ways were dying out, as they should. This was a time of advances, a time of understanding. This was a time to bridge the two cultures dividing the world and bring them together as one. And the Dark, as it was, was hampering that progress. This _had_ to happen. Everything would be alright, this way.

It was for the Greater Good.

* * *

 

Pansy had spent the last two weeks getting to know Harry an absurd amount. She had seen him groan at homework, growl at Blaise’s injuries, and face down a dragon with grim determination. She had not, however, ever seen him this upset.

They’d claimed a classroom, transfigured comfortable seats and tables and warded the entrance against entry without a password. Every Slytherin found an area to make their own, and this was no different. Even if Harry wasn’t officially a Slytherin.

Greengrass and Davis had taken to hanging around them, and for some inexplicable reason, Harry seemed to like them and Draco thought having the neutrals around was great, so Pansy didn’t really comment. She didn’t know them very well, the Parkinsons were Dark while the Greengrasses were traditionally neutral and the Davis tended to marry muggleborns every few generations and didn’t have a Wizangamot seat. Add in the fact that Greengrass found Pansy distasteful, and they generally ignored each other.

All three witches could agree, though, that Harry was slightly terrifying.

He’d gone to meet the Headmaster after dinner, and took only twenty minutes before he was bursting into their meeting room, already ranting. He stalked from one end of the room to the other, the muscles he’d developed from Quidditch rippling under his clothes as he told them the entire conversation.

Pansy had immediately declared his wardrobe a disaster when he’d begun hanging out with them, and, as she refused to hang around a rag-muffin, had gone through the effort of ordering him several more pieces. It wasn’t much, but it’d last until the winter holidays where she could take him shopping for real.

“He just,” Harry waved his arms in the air, and Pansy was almost worried he was about to have a case of accidental magic, his rage was so palpable. “He talked as if you didn’t matter. Like just because you guys are Slytherins it means you don’t get a chance. Or that you have to _change_.” He sneered, and Pansy was proud for the all of three seconds it lasted before he turned suddenly, pointing at all of them with an accusing finger. “None of you are allowed to change.”

Greengrass sneered from where she sat writing a Defense essay. “As if we’d change for you, Potter.”

“Drop the ice, Princess, or I’ll Incendio your robes,” Harry responded without missing a beat. Greengrass sent the Russian Crushing Curse she was so fond of (though she rarely sent it at the neck, preferring to aim it below the belt) but Harry dodged and retaliated. It dissolved quickly into a duel that Harry won, but not before Draco and Pansy got involved. In the end, they were all panting and exhausted, but Harry was smiling and the tension and anger that radiated from him had melted away.

Perhaps Greengrass had her uses.

* * *

 

Sirius was a Gryffindor. No matter what the bloody Hat suggested he was a _Gryffindor_. A red and gold lion, a proud member of Godric’s House. He was reckless, he was caring, and he did what was right, not what was easy.

That didn’t change the fact that he’d grown up around Slytherins.

He liked to think he was smart, even if it didn’t hit him till fifth year that grades were actually important. Sirius had mastered the Animagus transformation first, could brew well enough to stock his own home even if he didn’t enjoy it, and had been an accomplished Auror before he’d been unfairly arrested. Besides his crap-tastic OWLs in Runes, Divination, and Herbology, he was in the top ten of his year.

Sirius Black had also spent twelve years in the closest approximation to hell that wizarding kind had ever come up with. In a dank cell, surrounded by happiness-leeches and the people you’d fought for years, you tended to find yourself with a lot of time to think. If it wasn’t a good memory, if it didn’t fill you with hope and love and light, the monsters couldn’t burry it under desolation and anguish.

The betrayal by his friends was not a good memory.

Remus Lupin hadn’t visited. All those who he’d fought beside, who he thought were his allies, if not friends, didn’t question it when he was sent away. No one asked to see his trial, no one cared enough. Was the Black name such a stain that no one would look past it? Was Sirius cursed, to forever loose everything that he had?

But that wasn’t what bothered him the most.

Albus Dumbledore had been Chief Warlock on the Wizangamot since Harry was born. No trial could happen without his knowledge. Albus knew that Sirius wasn’t the Secret Keeper. Albus _knew_.

And he let it happen.

Albus had been leading the Light for years. When Sirius had entered Hogwarts, angry at his family and an outcast in Gryffindor, he’d been there. Always smiling and twinkling, always offering a candy. Albus was the only one that Voldemort feared. Was their best chance at beating the Death Eaters.

Sirius found he didn’t care about any of that. The cost wasn’t worth it.

At first, he’d told himself the resentment growing in his heart was because of the Dementors. That surely there was a reason for what Albus had done. Even the recent letter asking about the townhouse, wanting to use it in “the growing darkness”. There had to be a reason for everything. Sirius just couldn’t see it with the monsters affecting his emotions. This was _Albus Dumbledore_.

There were no Dementors around him now. Just the fresh air, the smell of wet dirt, and the hard walls of the cave. _Albus sent me to Azkaban. Worse, he put Harry with_ them.

Petunia had no right to raise Lily’s child. Not after what happened at her wedding. She was petty, cruel, and so jealous she couldn’t see past the green in her eyes. Harry should’ve stayed with someone who would love him, and teach him how to laugh. Someone that would support him, no matter what.

Harry should’ve stayed with Sirius, but Sirius was too busy being locked up by his leader.

Albus wanted Sirius out of the way, so he could place Harry where he wanted. But _why_? Why did Harry have to go to the worse sort of people? Why couldn’t Sirius have taken care of his son?

Sirius was a Gryffindor, but he knew a manipulation when he saw it.

What was Dumbledore playing at?

* * *

 

Lunelle Rowena Lovegood, Luna, Loony, all names. Amazing, what power names could have. Just hearing one could affect how you perceived someone. Names were connected to titles and titles called for respect.

 _Lord, Lady, Duke, Duchess. Heir_. She was one of those. An Heir. Well, Heiress. Heiress Luna of Lovegood. Another title. One that _should_ mean something. Not everything was as it should be.

 _“Little eagle, of moon and love_.” Her mother had called her that. Her little eagle. Another name, another title. This one meant something to _her,_ though. From the corner of her eye, Luna spotted a strange creature, box shaped and crawling on seven legs. It’s three eyes sparkled in the glimmer of candlelight as it walked besides her.

“Thanks mum, I love you too.” It was always nice when her mother sent her messages.

Some would say that Luna Lovegood was mad. Crazy. Insane. Coo-coo. Some would say she belonged in the _loony_ bin.

Luna tried to ignore them. They had nargles and wrackspurts filling their heads and controlling them.

Most people couldn’t see what Luna could, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Luna could see Thestrals, and others couldn’t. It was a fact of life. Luna was different, and that was okay. She liked who she was. She liked seeing the strange things others couldn’t.

Sometimes, the creatures in the world would tell Luna things. The wrackspurts warned of self-importance. They liked to snack on egos, so one should try to avoid them. The nargles told of impurity.

Sometimes though, Luna didn’t need creatures to tell her things. Sometimes, the world told her.

Whispers and murmurs, voices strange and familiar. They told secrets and they told truths. They told of the past, and of the futures.

They told of minds turning and choices being made. They told of Nyxus Flies being burned away by voices. They told of Remoqies tug-tugging on strings in chests and pulling people away and towards.

The voices told the current of the waves in the air. They told of little moments, mere pinpricks in the Tapestry, that wove together to form a picture of lives.

“ _Les petits moments marquent le monde_ ,” she murmured. It was important to know French, she thought. It was a beautiful language. Everything sounded better in French.

Something in the air changed, the voices grew a little louder, and Luna paused.

Another moment.

Another shift.

Humming, Luna wondered where the world would end up. If it would be swallowed by Jörmungandr. If it would become so bright, everyone would be blinded. Or maybe, just maybe, Power could balance _Sombre_ and Death would be happy at last. She liked that ending best, like a fairy tale of destruction and politics, a story of the world changing and fractures healing over.

A part of Luna wanted to be a part of it, but then she remembered. She wasn’t much, just a little third year. Just Loony Lovegood.

 _Lunelle Rowena Lovegood, Heiress of Love and Wisdom, Daughter of Magic and Mouth of Fate_. There were the voices, again. This one was warm, comforting. A presence over Luna’s shoulder reminded her that no matter what others said, she was _not_ useless. She was Luna Lovegood, and she could hear whispers of the future. Luna could see the paths, the choices before everyone. A crossroads, ever the center of life. She, just like all the rest, had a choice before her. And she knew what side she wanted to be on, in the coming conflict.

Perhaps she should try to spend some more time with her cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Rose, who helped me with the Blaise scene. Always love it when you help out


	10. Un Hiver Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it seems that the last chapter was a bit of a mixed bag. A lot of people seemed to like getting a look into other characters' heads, but the transitions were abrupt and sometimes hard to follow. I doubt I'll do something like that, though I do plan on using other character's POV. Just not so many at once. I also tried to make the transitions in this chapter flow a little better, so let me know what you think.  
> Be warned that next chapter might take a while because there's a lot going in that one  
> Also, thank you all for your support. This chapter marks not only the 50,000 word mark and 100 page mark, but we've also reached over 100 kudos. This means the world to me and I am so appreciative.

#  **December, 1994**

Harry was friends with Slytherins. That was… actually, Sirius decided that was perfectly fine because Harry was his own person and his friends weren’t their parents. Even if the very names of Malfoy, Parkinson and Zabini made Sirius itch for his wand. Sirius had sworn to support Harry, and that’s what he would do.

It was hard, meeting up with Harry, what with the whole student/celebrity and wanted man thing. They’d managed it twice since they’d agreed to try to be a family. Besides that, Sirius’s only contact with him was via letter. Trying to put as much detail about the House Potter and House of Black traditions in a letter was hard, especially when Sirius was in constant fear that it would be intercepted. Originally, he’d wanted to use a spell that coded the letter and required a specific counter-spell to unlock it. But when Harry pointed out that anyone suspicious would go through a list of decoder spells, Sirius let Harry teach him a muggle way to encrypt them. Add in most of the things that could be were subtly hinted at rather than said right out, Sirius began to relax. It was surprisingly fun.

Even with the safe-guards, though, Harry still waited until they met face to face to tell Sirius about the Slytherins. And it wasn’t just the Slytherins. Between Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione, as well as the full details of what happened between Halloween and then, it was a full evening. A part of Sirius was incredibly happy that Harry had found someone to lean on in his time of need. Another, darker part was displeased it was a Malfoy though.

_ I told Harry I would get over it _ , Sirius reminded himself firmly.  _ So I will _ .

It was difficult, to bury the almost instinctual response to Dark families. Which, in retrospect, was probably what most people felt when they heard the name Black. Trying to remind himself of the good points was difficult, but he’d once been close to Narcissa and Regulus, no matter what his choices were, was still his little brother at the end of things.

Shaking his head, Sirius focused on other things. It would do no help to reflect on the past and wonder about ‘what ifs’. He had a more immediate problem. His House Ring.

The House Rings were ancient, powerful, and extremely important magical artifacts. They were the focus through which Family Magicks bonded with the Lord. A bridge of a sort. Always kept in House vaults until they were claimed, much better protected than Heir Rings, which operated similarly, but to a much lesser extent.

They were also the subject of a large portion of the Goblin-Wizard Treaty.

The Goblins swore to protect the Rings and never remove them, to never interfere with the Magicks or protections, despite the fact that each Ring was Goblin made. They also swore to inform the Wizangamot as soon as one was claimed.

Talking to the Goblins (they didn’t give a single wit that Sirius was wanted by the Ministry) revealed that, while he could claim the Ring and his Lordship, it would mean alerting the Wizangamot that there was a new Lord of Black. Even if the Goblins didn’t say  _ who _ was the new Lord, there were only so many potential candidates. Besides, Wizangamot law required any new seat holder to present themselves at the following Solstice or Equinox. In theory, that would mean Sirius could just name a Proxy and not appear himself (a nifty loophole the Goblins pointed out). The issue with that, of course, was that Harry was the only one Sirius found himself trusting right now. And naming a fourteen year old his Proxy was not possible.

Which basically meant that Sirius had access only to his trust vault, left to him by his uncle, and the Heir vault, which was his by right of blood and magic, and Grimmauld Place, as that had been his parents and not part of the Black family estates. Anything else would have to wait until he claimed his Lordship, which he couldn’t do so long as he was a wanted man and had no one to trust.

Basically, he was screwed.

* * *

Harry was screwed. Not the normal oh-Voldemort-is-after-me kind of screwed. This was holyshit-I-will-never-be-able-to-show-my-face-again kind of screwed.

“A  _ ball _ ?” A part of Harry reminded him that he was in a public hallway, so he cleared his throat and repeated in a lower tone, “Why must we have a ball?”

Pansy fluttered her eyelashes and gave a rather bland smile. “Oh, Harry! Doesn’t it sound like fun? Just think of all the  _ people _ , and drinks and such. And everyone will be dressed up. Oh,” she looked dreamily in the air, “I simply can’t wait.” Which, in Queen’s English instead of Pansy-speak, meant that it was a great way to socialize, see who was with who, and hopefully get someone to slip something while unguarded. And show off, of course. Harry supposed such a thing would be great for Pansy, who gathered information like a dragon hoarded gold.

“Yes,” Draco added, looking blandly pleased and totally unsurprised. “I do think it will be a nice way to relax. Though, I wonder if we must decide to stay for the entire winter break.”

“I’d assume,” Harry responded, hanging around in the hallway. They’d just finished dinner, and this was the point where he’d have to split to head to Gryffindor Tower. Draco, Blaise and Pansy lingered with him, while Daphne and Tracy- he’d received permission to use their first names yesterday after he’d beaten both soundly in a two-on-one duel- nodded and waved respectively before continuing on. They were a strange pairing, those two, but he liked them both. Daphne was all ice that covered political motivation and sophistication with a desperate desire to control from shadows while Tracy was lighter than all the other Slytherins and happy to wear her emotions on her face to a certain extent. Healer protection made it, so she didn’t have to worry so much about others targeting her. He could tell they’d started hanging out because of him, but two days ago, they’d spent the evening with Pansy and come back all on a first name basis. Whatever happened there, it seemed to solidify some sort of actual friendship.

“Oh, yes. Because all of the Heads of Houses would be  _ completely fine _ with having their Heirs stay at Hogwarts during the winter holidays.” Harry looked at Blaise with raised brows, waiting for an explanation. Sarcasm was fine, and honestly Harry thought it made up 50% of Blaise’s personality. That did not, however, change the fact that Harry still wasn’t up to speed on all the nuances of modern politics and often had no idea what Blaise was on about.

“What he means,” Draco explained with a roll of his eyes, “Is that the winter holiday is the time of year when Heirs can return home and speak with their Lord or Lady. Most Heirs are kept up to date on most of the House matters starting at the age of eleven, and actively taking part after they turn fifteen. As most Heads are smart enough not to write about House matters, holidays are really the only time they can speak with their Heirs. Additionally, there are several events during this time that Heirs are expected to attend.”

“The biggest,” Pansy gushed, her sly smile at odds with her exuberant tone, “Is of course the Malfoy Yule Ball.”

Draco nodded, “Yes. The Hogwarts dance is on the twenty-seventh, while the Malfoy ball is actually on Yule.”

“I expect,” Blaise said, “That speaking to your Head of House and family will allow you to return to school for the dance while still allowing families to spend some time at home.” Harry nodded, feeling a slight pang of disappointment. This all meant that his friends would be gone for the holidays instead of staying with him. Which was fine, he told himself. They had families and responsibilities. And the castle being empty could be good. He might get more chances to meet with Sirius. (Harry still wasn’t ready to think of him as dad or father.)

“Well,” he said, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He could consider things later, when he wasn’t surrounded. “We best get to bed. We still have classes tomorrow.” They said their goodnights and parted ways.

At Gryffindor Tower, Harry walked in to find the Common Room crowded and loud. By the few words he picked up, he could tell it was all about the ball. He scanned the room, noting how the upper years all roamed, usually to those of the opposite gender. Already wondering who’d they’d ask, more than likely. In one corner, Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus all spoke in a circle, with Lavender and Parvati only a few feet away. Ron looked up at his entrance and glared viciously. Ignoring him Harry made his way towards the staircase. He was in no mood to try to fight through his Potions essay in this chaos.

He was three feet from the first step when a familiar red head glided into his path. Harry was surprised Ron could handle such a coordinated move and almost asked if he’d been taking lessons before biting his tongue. There was no need to start something.

“I see the Junior Death Eaters let you off your leash.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow, not bothering to hide his sneer. “That was almost clever. How long did it take for Hermione to come up with?” Ron, predictably, went bright red. Harry knew he’d been spending far too much time with Pansy when he idly noted how it clashed horribly with his hair and red robes.

“I can’t believe you’re hanging out with slimy snakes. You’re no better than they are.” Ron said tightly.

“Well, they do have better manners than myself. I’m working on it.”

It took a moment, but Ron finally rifled through what he meant. “You mean a bunch of pureblood bigoted beliefs. And here I thought you were better than that.”

“And here I thought you were self-aware enough to realize that you yourself are a pureblood, and one from the Sacred 28.” Perhaps Harry should rein the snark in. The Common Room had gone quiet around them, everyone interested in the growing commotion. There was no need to antagonize Ron, and it made him uncomfortable to be so sarcastic in here. He usually bit back the cynicism, as it’d done nothing but get him in trouble with the Dursleys.

Ron snarled, “Now you’re talking like them. Whatever they’ve done, you need to watch yourself. Or someone will end up knocking some sense into you.”

There was a noise of discontent somewhere in the room, but Harry smiled brightly, stepped right into Ron’s personal space, and made sure his voice was overly bubbly. Pansy would be so proud. “I would hope the well educated students in this school would know better than to attack me just because of my friends. Otherwise, I may take offense.” Harry patted Ron on the cheek and ignored the flinch. “I suppose you’d have to be educated to understand that though, Ronald.” Disregarding the utter silence encircling the room, Harry stepped lightly around the fuming Ron and up the stairs. When he was sure no one could see him, he dropped the façade, and entered his room tense. Of  _ course _ Ron- Ronald he thought- would make a scene. The Weasleys’ always had a problem letting things go.

Harry released an upset groan. He shouldn’t judge the entire family just because Ronald was an idiot.  _ Traitorous idiot _ , he added darkly. Turning abruptly, he settled on his bed with his work spread out around him. Daphne had dug into him about getting his grades up and they were a perfect distraction.

_ “You don’t have to be  _ the _ best, but you should be  _ your  _ best. _ ” She’d told him. Which was fair. Besides, Sirius always asked about classes when they spoke, and every few letters he offered advice for any lessons he was struggling with. Sirius cared, which filled Harry with an unusual sense of determination. He wanted Sirius to be proud of him, so if that meant working harder, so be it. Besides, Draco was amazing at Potions and tutored Harry in exchange for Defense tutoring. Add in Tracy’s abilities at Charms and Daphne’s talent with Transfiguration, plus Blaise’s natural gift with Herbology, and they covered nearly all of the classes. Well, Draco and Harry had Care, while the rest had Runes and Arithmancy.

Harry was startled to find himself grudgingly interested in both of those. During second year, the descriptions provided made it seem like Runes was a study of ancient languages and Arithmancy higher mathematics, but they were so much more than that. Reminded of the Twins, he’d looked over Daphne’s Runes’ text and was surprised at the complexity. They were meant to create spell effects without an actual spell, and they lasted longer. Arithmancy seemed to play a role in spell creation, as apparently numbers had power that allowed connections so subtle most didn’t realized they were there. Harry was honestly a little surprised at how interested he found himself.

When asked why he hadn’t taken either, he quietly admitted that he hadn’t know what to take, so he’d just taken the same classes as Ron. Blaise snorted contemptuously, while Daphne gave him her I-am-so-unimpressed-and-disappointed stare while the rest looked completely dissatisfied with him.

“Well,” Pansy had said, “You can take beginner classes in either or both after OWLs, so long as you drop two other classes. Or, if you really want to, you could study the third and fourth year course work and test into the fifth year class for next year.”

“Wait,” he’d asked, “You can do that?” The answer was yes. Apparently, a few sixth year students always joined the third year class so that they could get a few years of Runes, though if they wanted an OWL in it, they’d have to do independent study and take the tests at the Ministry out of school.

Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to do either of those, but he’d promised his friends he’d consider it. In the interim, Tracy had leant him her third year books for Runes and Blaise handed over his copy of the Arithmancy text.

Harry looked up at the sound of the door opening, about to pull shut his curtains so he wouldn’t have to deal with Ron again so soon. It was Neville though, and Harry was so surprised at the clear uncertainty on his face that he hesitated. Resolve straitened his shoulders though, and he stepped towards Harry’s bed with determination.

“Well met, Heir Potter,” Neville greeted firmly. Harry was surprised, considering this was Neville Longbottom, but stood nonetheless and dipped his head respectfully.

“Well met, Heir Longbottom. Please, we’ve been roommates for years. Call me Harry.” Relaxing, Neville smiled and the relief around him was palpable.

“Call me Neville, then.” They stood in silence for a second, before Neville seemed to realize that he held a higher standing than Harry. “Oh! Sit, please.” Neville smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I don’t usually keep up with this during the school year.”

Easing back to his bed, Harry tilted his head. “Don’t take offence, Neville, but you never really seemed the type before.”

Shifting nervously as he dragged a chair over, Neville admitted quietly, “It’s- look, the Longbottoms are old, Sacred 28, and Gran and Uncle Algie are big on me keeping tradition, even if we don’t follow the blood supremacy beliefs. It’s just…” he took a deep breath, “Don’t be offended, but I room with the Boy-Who-Lived, a Weasley, a muggleborn, and a half blood. Most of Gryffindor is against keeping up old customs and a lot of people don’t even know what they are. If I’d gone around saying well met, and making formal introductions…”

“You’d be a target,” Harry said equally quiet. “Ostracized.”

“Yeah.” Neville shook his head, before meeting Harry’s eyes. “But than you started hanging around Slytherins and following proper practices with everyone and suddenly it’s not me getting targeted.” Shrugging, Neville added wryly, “I guess you’re braver than I am.”

Harry frowned, “No, not really.” When Neville looked incredulous, he hurried on. “I’m not doing it to show that I can, or to make a statement or anything. I hadn’t even known about any of this until Draco told me about it. I’m doing this because I’m sick of letting others chose how I act, and I genuinely think that these customs are interesting. This isn’t me being brave, this is me being stubborn and petty.” Which described his personality.

It was Neville’s turn to pull a face. “No one ever told you about this?” Harry shrugged. Shaking his head, Neville continued, “You should’ve been taught as a child. I guess it’s too late for that. Look, I wanted to tell you that whatever Ron may say, I don’t care. I may not agree with Malfoy as a person, but you should have a right to choose your own friends.”

Harry smiled. It was nice, to hear someone say that. In the past few weeks, he’d wondered if the entire school would turn on him just for wanting to be friends with kids outside his own House. “Has Malfoy done something to you?”

The atmosphere darkened, and Harry worried he’d offended. Neville swallowed several times before he could explain his sudden sorrow. “I lost my parents as a baby. Not the same way you did- they’re both alive, but they were torture into insanity by Malfoy’s aunt and uncle.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t bother saying sorry. It never helped and always just felt fake to him, when others offered their apologizes. “I…” he took a moment to think over what he wanted to say, before speaking carefully. “It may not be my place, Nev, but for what it’s worth, I’ve recently realized something.” Neville looked up. “I’m not my dad. I’m not my mum. I’m just Harry. So, I’m going to try to judge others for their own actions, not the ones of their parents.”

Neville was still tense, but he nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

In silence, they both turned to homework. Harry found himself oddly comfortable in the other’s presence, and wondered if this was something he could get used to.

* * *

Harry liked McGonagall. She was intelligent, a good teacher, and kind even if stern. But a dance teacher, she was not.

The “dance lesson” in question was an unmitigated disaster that Harry was in no hurry to repeat. McGonagall demonstrated the entire thing twice, while lecturing about keeping time and balance and then let them off to try it. Which was how she taught Transfiguration, but it worked a lot worse with dancing.

Hermione, in her third attempt at getting forgiveness, had asked Harry to dance with her. While he’d had no desire to do so, McGonagall had been standing over his shoulder looking expectant, so he’d agreed. Hermione seemed to take this as some sort of victory.

“Harry, I’m glad you’ve decided to listen.” He’d done no such thing, but he figured he could last the half hour of this lesson without antagonizing her unduly. Still, he didn’t have to be nice to her.

“I am really sorry.” She honestly looked it, Harry thought. Which just made him mad. There shouldn’t be anything for her to apologize about because she shouldn’t have shunned him. “I don’t know what I was thinking, believing you could’ve gotten past Professor Dumbledore’s Ageline.”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, furious and barely containing it. “You mean you only think I didn’t do it because you don’t think me  _ capable _ ?” She opened her mouth, but he didn’t hear her excuses. Of course,  _ of course _ , she thought he wouldn’t be able to pull something like this off. Not without her. He was just Harry Potter, while she was Hermione Granger, top student of Hogwarts. Unexpectedly, Harry found himself wishing he’d been getting good grades all along, if only so it’d be easier to achieve his newfound goal of besting Hermione Granger.

“-but honestly, there was no reason to go hanging around with Malfoy and his lot. You’re not acting like yourself anymore.” Her voice penetrated his thoughts and he could only stare at her incredulously as McGonagall corrected his step sequence. He had no idea what steps he was supposed to be learning, but he didn’t particularly care either.

“Have you considered that they’re my friends, so I don’t have to put on a show for them?”

“They’re  _ Slytherins _ .” As if that made them evil. As if preferring subtle sarcastic barbs and the intrigue of politics made someone less than human. Merlin, had  _ he _ sounded like this before?

Harry had no idea how to respond to such an absurd reply. He wondered what the others would say. A few thoughts went through his head and he finally settled on channeling Draco.

“You complain of the bigotry of others, Granger, but you refuse to acknowledge your own.” He sneered, letting his anger and contempt rise to the surface and dance across his features. She flinched. “Tell me, does that much hypocrisy leave a taste? Or is it covered by the self-righteousness?” Dropping her hand, he turned on his heel and walked out the door, ignoring McGonagall’s call.

He hadn’t made it ten minutes.

* * *

Unbidden, Harry found himself wondering about Hermione’s question. He  _ had _ been acting differently, he thought. But was that just from different influences, or was it something else?

He considered his actions. When he’d been younger, he’d had a few sarcastic remarks at the Dursley’s. When his first Hogwarts letter had come. Before Marge’s visit after second year. He tried to keep it to a minimum, but that was because he feared the retribution. At Hogwarts itself…

The Hat had wanted Slytherin. He hadn’t told anyone that, not yet. Not Ronald or Granger or anyone. Not even Sirius. But when he’d gone under it, all he could think of was Hagrid, telling him about his brave Gryffindor parents. Of Ronald, telling him that Gryffindor is where everyone expected him to go. Harry had wanted to be accepted so much, that he’d begged for it. He’d begged to go where everyone expected him to because that was the best way to get them to like him.

And at school, he was always a Gryffindor. Going for the Stone, facing the Basilisk, using a Time-Turning with no plan.

Provoking Slytherins.

Those were Gryffindor traits. That was what was expected of him. But was it really  _ him _ ?

Harry found himself not knowing.

* * *

After that unsettling thought, Harry headed down to the dungeons. It was Friday night, two weeks before winter holidays, and he knew the others would be heading to their room when they could. Entering, he found Daphne, Draco, and Pansy already there.

“Blaise and Tracy?” he asked, setting his bag down and pulling out his Defense paper.

“Tracy’s meeting with the sixth year Healer about something. And Blaise is-“

“Right here.” Daphne glared at the interruption, but didn’t find it offensive enough to start a fight with Blaise. Instead, she sneered and returned to her Runes book. Harry registered the disheveled state Blaise’s clothes were in, his satisfied smirk, and connected it to a few allusions to him being something of a playboy and didn’t ask. They all fell into the easy roll of going through homework, asking each other when they needed help. It didn’t take long, however, for the others to realize Harry was distracted.

“You alright?” He blinked a few times at Pansy.

“Oh!” he finally exclaimed, when her words registered. “Uh, yeah. Fine.”

Blaise dropped his quill and leaned back. “Oh yes, because that was believable.”

When they all focused on him, he found himself shifting uncomfortable. He didn’t want to bring this up, and he most certainly did not want all their attention on him. “I’m fine. Really.” It didn’t take long for their stares to become painful, and he gave in after five minutes. His best time yet.

“It’s nothing really important.” Lowering his voice, he muttered mutinously, “Ijustcan’tdance.”

“I’m sorry what was that?” He glared at Blaise’s light tone, but repeated himself a little louder.

Daphne looked horrified, as they all did, but at least Pansy had the decency to understand. “That’s right,” she murmured, “Muggles.”

Comprehension rippled through them all. It was Daphne, however, that stood gracefully and circled the table until she was standing next to him.

“Up.”

“What?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet. “It is unacceptable that the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House be unable to dance. Thus, you will learn.”

Harry smiled briefly. Right, he forgot that his friends were often insistent on rectifying his naivety as quickly as possible. Daphne especially, found it horribly offensive for Harry to be dim.

“I have to open the dance with the other competitors,” he admitted as he was pulled onto the open floor and Draco cast some charm that started soft music playing.

“Of course you do,” Daphne sniffed. “Very well, we’ll start with the classic waltz before moving on. Now, you are likely to be leading, so the steps for you are…” She showed him the moves, a few steps at a time, building up and adding more. Eventually she judged him competent enough to actually dance with her and showed him the way to hold himself. He found himself receiving hexes from Pansy and Blaise whenever his elbow dropped or his shoulders hunched.

His complaints were met with “This was how we learned, deal with it.” He wasn’t great at it, but he found himself smoothing out and learning to listen to the beat of the music. In the following weeks, he was put on a crash course of dance lessons, Daphne, Pansy, and Tracy switching out so he could learn to dance with a variety of girls. Draco and Blaise spent the time snickering to each other.

* * *

A few days after his first dance lesson, he found himself entering what he’d come to think of as the “Slytherin Cave”, with only Daphne and Tracy as company. When he’d asked why the others weren’t joining them, Daphne had murmured “Slytherin politics” and left it at that. Harry took this to mean that they were either making allies or dealing with enemies and decided to leave it alone.

“So,” Daphne asked after a few minutes of silent studying, “What is your plan for the Hogwarts Ball?”

“Uh, not embarrass myself?”

“A good goal, I suppose, but not what I was asking. I meant a date.”

“Oh.” A few possibilities flitted through Harry’s mind before he shut them down. No. He would  _ not _ contemplate something like that. He was finally being accepted, he would not ruin it with his… _ freakishness _ . “Shit, I really need to get on that, don’t I?”

“Just maybe,” Tracy offered brightly.

“Ugh.” Harry banged his head against the table repeatedly, until he finally just collapsed over his paper on the properties of Mandrakes.

“You really don’t have any idea?” Tracy said curiously. “Aren’t you interested in anyone?” Not in anyway that mattered. It wasn’t that Harry hadn’t  _ noticed _ people, really. He had. The way hair glinted in certain light, the curve of someone’s lips, even the way tighter clothes accentuated…

Well, the point of it all, was yeah. He could name a few people he thought cute or enjoyed spending time with. But someone he wanted to take to the Ball, a very  _ public _ ball… not so much.

“Er, no. I’ve been a little busy trying to survive the past four years to worry much about dating.”

Daphne’s lips twitched but Tracy actually laughed. “Well,” Daphne proposed, “You could always take someone as a friend. No strings attached.”

Taking time to roll that over in his head, Harry wondered if he really could. Obviously, his friend group was limited at this time, but at least he liked them all. Running through the sides of this wasn’t so difficult, and he found himself liking the conclusion he came to.

He turned to his right with a sheepish smile that he hoped came off as charming instead of impolite. “Dearest Tracy, if you wouldn’t be terribly upset to join someone who has no interest in you romantically, would you care to join me for the Hogwarts Ball?”

Again, she laughed brightly, and Harry found himself enjoying that he could at least make his friends laugh. “I would not be horribly upset. I’ll be happy to join you, Harry.”

He returned her smile but raised an eyebrow at Daphne’s huff. It was clear by the twitch in her lips that she was amused, but she forced a sneer.

“Should I be offended?”

“Probably not.” At their expectant looks, he continued, “As Pansy is always so excited to point out, this is a political and networking opportunity. I may be the Boy-Who-Lived, which is why you’ve become friends with me, but my name is still in the dirt from this whole Tournament business, which means you wouldn’t want to take me to the Ball anyway.”

Daphne blinked, but she looked uncomfortable for some reason. Harry couldn’t think of why considering that everything he’d said was true. “I’m not your friend because you’re the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Confused, Harry tried to figure out where the jump had come from. “Not anymore, no. But you started joining us because of who I was.” She opened her mouth, but he spoke over her. “I don’t care about that. Really. You’re my friend now, and that’s what matters. Draco and I became friends because we were using each other.” A truthful but strange statement.

Before either girl could comment, the door opened and the other three floated in on a wave of snickers and gloats.

“Do I even want to know?” Harry asked when they managed to seat themselves.

“Liz Tuttle tried hexing Pansy while her back was turned,” Blaise offered. “Draco here took insult.”

Draco smirked, and leaned onto the table with easy elegance. “If she wanted a duel, she got one.”

“That’s a seventh year,” Harry pointed out.

“A weak seventh year who never applied herself to Defense and isn’t taking the NEWT,” Pansy added.

“It’s called studying ahead, Harry.” Draco paused, before adding cautiously, “Besides, the Slytherin Common Room is often filled with uncommon spell fire.” Meaning illegal, Dark Arts were fine so long as they were inside of Slytherin House. They all waited expectantly without staring at him and making it look like they were interested in his response.

What response though? He waited, for the natural response of disgust, the indignant anger at Dark Arts, but it never came. Daphne had taught him an illegal spell the first day she’d joined them, but it wasn’t really  _ bad _ , just dangerous like a lot of other spells. Besides, Harry was a Parselmouth. The very talent that had saved his life several times, had saved Hogwarts, was Dark.

Instead of responding directly to Draco’s comment, he turned and looked him directly in the eyes. This close, Harry could see the silver and pale blue that mixed with gray to create such vivid eyes.

“You once told me I didn’t understand Dark magic. So make me.”

Everyone went very, very quiet around the table. Daphne and Tracy, both politically neutral, leaned back and observed in silence, while Pansy and Blaise stared at Harry liked he’d announced he was secretly Morgana Le Fay. Draco met his eyes and asked, in a very delicate voice, “Do you really want that?”

“I want to make my own choices. I can’t do that if I don’t have the information.”

The others went still, but Harry found the rest of the room melting away. Draco gave a small smile before he went entirely serious. As far as they were concerned, it was just the two of them. Another lesson, a distorted echo of when they met in secret.

“In simple terms, the Dark Arts are spells meant to actively damage or harm something or someone. Whether that be something as innocuous as a Cutting Hex, or something as powerful as the Killing Curse. The Light Arts are the opposite. Those are spells that heal, or protect. A Shield Charm, the Patronus, Episkey. Essentially, the Dark Arts are offensive, and the Light Arts are defensive or supportive.”

“And other spells? I used Wingardium Leviosa to defeat a troll in my first year.”

“Any spell that can be used for either harm or protection is generally acknowledged as Gray magic. Though, most just call it neutral.”

Harry took some time to absorb this. It made sense, and explained the general dislike of it. No one wanted to support something that actively harmed others. Well, most people. Which brought up another question entirely.

“Voldemort’s supporters almost exclusively use Dark Magic.”

The others didn’t say a thing, but Harry noticed Pansy and Draco’s blank masks slipping over their faces. A sign they were uncomfortable. Harry wondered if they noticed that using those just made it obvious what they were feeling, to those that know them at least.

“Every witch or wizard has a natural inclination towards a certain type of magic. Some, Gray, some Light and some Dark. When most branches of Dark Arts were slowly but surely named illegal and  _ evil _ by very nature, certain people were…  _ insulted _ to say the least. Core Type, as it’s sometimes called, comes from a collection of things, genetics, choice, what spells you use most often.

“Magical inclination doesn’t mean much, just what kind of magic will come easier to you. And while Dark Arts, by their very nature, are dangerous, that doesn’t mean they should be eradicated. What good would Aurors be if they couldn’t attack criminals?”

Draco fell silent, and the room sat unmoving. Everyone was waiting for a reaction again, a sign of what he was thinking. There was a lot there to unpack, Harry knew. But only one thought would fully form.

“My best class is Defense Against the Dark Arts.” The class that used most spells meant to harm. The class where they were taught jinxes, hexes, curses and basic dueling skills. That was what the newest unit was, Harry remembered. Moody was going to teach them dueling skills and maybe even let them practice a few times.

“It is,” Draco agreed at the same time as;

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Blaise commented lightly, his first words since this started. It was a strange echo of what Harry had been thinking.

Harry took a deep breath and held it. Defense was his best class. Before, he’d thought it was because of all the time spent running from Dudley, and the constant fear of Voldemort. He had good reflexes, and even better reasons to excel. Now though, he saw it differently. Protego and Patronus were the two spells it was hardest for him to learn. They were fifth and seventh year spells respectively, but so was Reducto and Bombarda, and those he’d managed after a day or two. Harry was decent at defense, but he was best at offense. It just came easier to him.

His magic was Dark.

It should be shocking, horrifying. He should be backing out, denying everything. But he was a Parselmouth, and he wanted to make his own choices. Those first instincts were Gryffindor instincts, programmed into him by Dumbledore and Ronald and his blind desire to please. So he thought about it fully. Let it sink in, let his mind accept what he now knew as truth.

His magic was Dark.

Most of which was illegal, he noted. But Sirius being free was illegal. Sirius being his dad was illegal. Harry protecting himself with magic while outside of school was illegal. Truthfully, he didn’t care much for laws that didn’t protect him. This was his magic, and that made it part of him. Harry didn’t think he was a bad person, and these were the kind of spells that would keep him safe or, at the very least, alive.

He let his breath go in one long sigh, sat forward asked, “Well, that explains things then. Now, more importantly, can you help me with the properties of Mandrake, Draco? I get that they purify, which is why they’re good in antidotes, but what does the time of planting have to do with it?”

No one commented on his subject change, and Draco was happy to lead them all on time spent studying for Potions. After they were all done, Harry stood and faced Draco with a confident smirk.

“Care for a duel? Moody claimed we’d be starting them after winter hols, and I would love to watch you trample Ronald.”

“Sound likes a marvelous idea.”

Harry had Dark magic. It was true, just like it was true that he was a Parselmouth, like how Sirius Black was his father.

Just like it was true that the Hat wanted him in Slytherin.

* * *

The next day, Harry made a few vague excuses about looking into the egg (which he should probably  _ actually _ look into) to his friends and left early. In reality, he snuck to the Shrieking Shack where his father was waiting.

_ Father _ . The word still gave him a thrill.

“Harry!” The hug was expected, and slowly,  _ slowly¸  _ Harry was learning to accept them. He wasn’t big on unexpected contact still, but knowing that Sirius loved him and would never hurt him was doing wonders. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know. Ironically ostracized by everyone  _ except _ Slytherins, getting sneered at by bigoted Slytherins and a few subtle inquires over whether this means I’m going Dark, putting off looking into the Second Task in the vague hope that I can have a normal winter holiday for once. The usual.”

Barking a laugh, Sirius sat them both down. He’d transfigured a couple nice chairs and table and set up a few floating Lumos so that they could have a veneer of normality. “You know, pup, I think you’re getting more sarcastic and snarky the more time you spent with Slytherins.”

“You-“ Harry paused, trying to find a delicate way to phrase this before remembering that Sirius was a Gryffindor and thus wouldn’t care about tact. “Does it bother you? You fought for Dumbledore.”

Sirius paused, thinking over the answer. Since the first meeting they’d shared, they had both been sure to try their best at honesty. Harry still hadn’t told him about the Dursleys, and everything entailed with them, mainly because he hadn’t the courage to.

“No. Well, I worry that one of their parents might hurt you, but I also trust your judgement. If you think they really are your friends-“

“They are.”

“-then I see no reason to interfere.” Sirius looked at him and said with all seriousness, “I won’t make your choices for you Harry. I promised to support you and I meant it.” Relived, Harry nodded. “Though I do wonder what Snape’s outlook to all this is.”

Snorting, Harry reflected on Snape. The man had made one attempt to get Harry to sit with the Gryffindors, only to have Draco speak up. When asked, Draco admitted that Snape was his godfather, and so he had more leeway than others. Since, Snape had been just as awful as usual, but now all of his barbs seemed to have a point. Snape was no doubt trying to figure out why Harry Potter, Golden Gryffindor, was hanging around Slytherins and partnering with Draco for Potions. Harry just pasted on bland, but pleasant expressions and made a point of not talking back. Watching Snape’s neck muscles twitch with irritation was amusing, if nothing else.

“Confused, I think. He’s just as horrible to me as usual, but I think he’s also trying to get me to mess up and reveal something. The entire school is wondering why I’ve started hanging around Slytherins, and the teachers seem to be watching me more closely. Pansy heard a rumor that Draco had me under the Imperius.”

Harry was expecting laughter, so he was confused when Sirius frowned. He  _ hated  _ it when Sirius frowned. His face was made for laughter and smiles, not frowns and wrinkles.

“Sni- Snape is rude to you? Like, more than he is to others?”

Shrugging, Harry said, “Well, yeah. He’s had it out for me since first year. Don’t know what I ever did to him.” Pausing, Harry finally connected a few dots that he’d been missing. “That’s right, he was in the same year as you, wasn’t he? That’s what all that in the Shack in third year was about.” Sirius shifted, looking extremely uncomfortable.

“When James and I were young, we were… Well, to be completely franc-“

“I thought you were just Sirius.” That got a bark of laughter, but Sirius gave him a mildly disapproving look before continuing.

“We were more bullies than the pranksters we liked to think ourselves as. It-“ it took a few more minutes before Sirius could explain haltingly. “I was at odds with my family, and I thought that all Slytherins were like them, so I came to Hogwarts with a deep seated hatred of all of them. So when James suggested going after Snape- who was at the time really good friends with Lily and made James ridiculously jealous- I didn’t disagree. Over the years, things escalated, especially with the first War and You-Know-Who recruiting mostly from Slytherin. James and I took our anger and frustration at the state of the world out on Snape and Snape took his embarrassment out on us. Except, with Remus and Peter, both of who wouldn’t join in initially but who would jump in if Snape started fighting back, we outnumbered him.”

“Wait, Snape was friends with my mum?!”

“Yes.” Sirius peered at him curiously, before adding slowly, “In fifth year he called her a mudblood though, and they never made up. He was in love with her.” Mind reeling, Harry tried to adjust this. Snape, Head of Slytherin, bigoted bully Snape, had been in love with his mum. In love with the woman, Harry realized with no little horror, that had ended up marrying the man who had bullied Snape his entire Hogwarts carrier, from the sound of it. Did Snape hate him so much because of what happened with his parents?

“In sixth year,” Sirius went on, oblivious to the way Harry’s mind was running, “I… orchestrated for Snape to discover Remus, but told James about it. James saved him from getting killed, and Snape has never really forgiven us for that.”

“That’s what happened at the end of third year was about,” Harry realized, “You tried to get him killed by Remus. But  _ why _ ?” Remus had been his friend, Harry knew. If Remus had actually killed, or even simply bitten Snape, he would’ve ended up dead or in Azkaban. So why set him up that way? And why reveal one of your closest friend’s deepest secrets to your greatest enemy?

Hand slipping under the table, Sirius fiddled with his wand where Harry knew he kept it in his pocket.

“I can’t tell you.” Surprised, Harry considered Sirius and what he knew. So far, they hadn’t really hit anything that they wouldn’t- or  _ couldn’t _ \- talk about. Mainly, Harry knew, because Sirius had yet to ask about the Dursleys and Harry’s childhood. Something for which he was grateful, but meant that this sudden refusal to talk was even more jarring. Everyone had their secrets, and normally Harry wouldn’t press, but something didn’t seem right about this. Snape clearly held on to a friendship with Lily- a muggleborn Gryffindor- for five years, so why suddenly do something he must have known would ruin their relationship? Especially if he was in love with her. And while Sirius was a bully by his own admission, he was also loyal to the core. He never would’ve betrayed Remus that way, not unless he had to.

_ Not unless he had to _ . A page of the Black family tree flashed through his mind. Harry had studied it the same way he’d studied the Potter history, with an all consuming hunger and desire for a connection to these relatives he’d never get to meet. There had been another name, next to Sirius’s. A year younger, but still family. And still a Black.

“Your brother Regulus was in Slytherin during this, wasn’t he?” Sirius startled, but then grinned. He pulled out his wand and layed it on the table, still rolling it through his fingers and holding it possessively.

“He was. I suppose your friends in Slytherin have taught you a thing or two.” How to have a conversation without really saying the words. Picking up on body language, on things that couldn’t be said. Telling him about Vows and Oaths.

Yeah, he’d learned a thing or two.

“Slytherins tend to stand by their words, even if they don’t always have the same spirit as Gryffindors.” It took a moment for Sirius to fully understand this, not being used to these kinds of conversations.

“Always nice when they show their cunning by being blunt,” he finally agreed happily. An Oath instead of a Vow, then. While Unbreakable Vows kept you to the spirit of the words, Magical Oaths were much looser and kept you only to the literal wording. Which left a lot more room for loopholes. So, someone had used Regulus as leverage to get Sirius to pull this “prank”. But for which purpose- revealing Remus, or killing Snape? But if Snape had been in Slytherin, where a whole lot of bigoted purebloods went, especially during that time…

“It wasn’t very stealthy, you know. Sneaking Remus out like that all the time. People were bound to notice.”

“More than we anticipated,” Sirius agreed, frowning. “Not all Slytherins were idiots, despite our beliefs on the matter,” he added, completely off topic and in a far too normal tone. “Avery was relatively intelligent, considering his general disposition. Add in Mulciber and Dolohov, his favorite lackeys, and you got a general recipe for disaster.”

Ah. There was the answer, delivered oh so very nicely.

“So,” Harry said innocently. “Avery, Mulciber and Dolohov threatened Regulus if you didn’t expose Remus as a werewolf to Snape. Did I get all that?”

Tension that Harry hadn’t even noticed bled out of him as Sirius grinned widely. “Well, aren’t you an intelligent little pup?”

“What was the Oath?”

“Paraphrased? I couldn’t talk about it to anyone who didn’t already know.”

Nodding, Harry asked gently, “So what really happened?”

“Snape had been trying to fix his relationship with Lily between fifth and sixth year. From what I understand, the Death Eaters didn’t like that. I think they wanted him for his potion’s talent. Anyway, come sixth year, James and I had already decided to be Aurors and join the Order, so we tended to be more studious, but also more vehement in our hatred towards the Death Eaters.” Sirius paused to collect his thoughts before going on.

“It was clear, early on, who really supported You-Know-Who. They weren’t really quiet. I got in a very public fight with Reg about it. I’d run away the previous summer, and we hadn’t really talked since. I wanted him to stay away, he wanted me to stop trying to control him. We said some pretty nasty things. Not a week later, Avery was coming up to me and told me that he knew what Remus was, but that he wanted  _ everyone _ to know. Made me swear an Oath on my wand to expose Snape to Remus during a full moon and not to tell anyone about Avery’s roll in it that didn’t already know. I told James that I’d done something stupid and he went after Snape. Never did find out why the whole werewolf thing wasn’t spread all over school.”

Sirius shifted before saying, “I can’t really blame Snape for hating James and I. We made his life miserable. I just wish he wouldn’t take it out on you.” If nothing else, this all answered another question Harry had. Snape had most certainly been a Death Eater. He’d suspected, but it was nice to have confirmation.

“You seem very… self-aware,” he eventually said. It was strange, to hear someone be so upfront about their downfalls. Especially when, just last year in the Shrieking Shack, they had been vehement in their hatred of each other.

“I had twelve years to think about this. Besides,” Sirius gave a hesitant smile, “I want to be someone you can be proud of. If that means facing up to my mistakes, so be it. I plan on doing what’s right, Harry. Not what’s easy.”

* * *

Tracielle Danielle Davis was not what most considered a classic Slytherin. In truth, the Hat had wanted to put her in Hufflepuff, but said her burning ambition was also grounds for Slytherin. In the end, she chose her father’s House.

A burning ambition to be a  _ Healer _ was not something usually seen in the Snake Pit though. Still, she was happy when she found out that each year required a Healer. Most didn’t plan on going into Healing as a career, but Tracy was happy to devote herself to her appointed slot in Slytherin. Besides, in the first two years being a Healer protected her from Draco Malfoy, who had been the purest of blood supremacists. She still wasn’t sure what exactly changed, with that. During second year, after Mrs. Norris’s petrification, he’d been subdued and moody, but still a prat. Yet, come third year, he was significantly more- well, more Slytherin. He whined less, was a little more subtle in his visceral comments, and quickly carved a place for himself as the top snake of their year group. Add in the way he started speaking to the younger years, making friendships and encouraging study groups that he helped with, and slowly reaching out to the year immediately above them, it was quite the sudden change.

One she was grateful for. If nothing else, having the Malfoy Heir step up and start acting like was expected of someone from his pedigree, kept things in Slytherin interesting.

What she was truly grateful for, though, was Harry Potter. As a neutral half-blood and the Healer for their year, most stayed away from Tracy. She’d known Daphne since they were three, considering they were cousins and all. While Daphne enjoyed staying out of Slytherin politics to a degree, she also traded favors like they were jewels, some of which Tracy couldn’t understand for the life of her.

It made for a rather lonesome existence. Until Harry, that is.

Even Tracy understood why Daphne had started hanging around Draco’s group when the Boy-Who-Lived suddenly became friends with a bunch of snakes. The thing was, Tracy actually really liked Harry, and, now that she’d started really getting to know them, she liked the others as well. Pansy’s saccharine sass was a fun balance to Daphne’s icy persona. Harry and Draco’s pointed banter accompanied by Blaise occasionally throwing fuel on the fire always made their hangout lively. And, more and more, Tracy was pretty sure Daphne was doing this less for the connections, and more for the friendship that was slowly developing.

They all spent so much time together that they were learning about each other faster than normal. Which meant that it was inevitable for Tracy to spot the inconsistencies in Harry Potter.

He was confident around peers, always jumping in with a snarky comment, only to fall quiet around adults. Curious and open about his naivety around them- if not the rest of Slytherin- only to refuse to ask questions in class. One of the most famous people in their country, yet uncomfortable with attention. A boy who should’ve grown up around love and luxury, except he stiffened at the most casual of touches. Someone who was fiercely attached to his new friends, as if afraid they would leave suddenly, but made a habit of disappearing a night or two every week.

Curious and unable to help herself, she started asking questions about his home life. Dodges and deflections were all she got. When she stopped trying to be subtle about it, she caught a few questioning glances from the others. Only for the looks to shift to Harry when he changed the subject. One day, she walked into their hangout room only to find it already occupied by the boys. She’d walked up behind Harry and dropped her arms around him in a hug, only for him to jump nearly three feet and turn so quickly his chair got nocked over.

It all painted a very displeasing picture. Slytherin got its fair share of kids from bad childhoods, and everyone knew the signs and what not to push. So when Tracy got her answer, as unconfirmed as it was, she stopped the inquiries.

But she was a Healer at heart, and she wanted nothing more than to know the truth so that she could maybe, just maybe, help Harry.

* * *

When Draco walked into the dungeon room after lunch, expecting to stride in and gleefully announce his news, he stopped abruptly when he saw his friends- actual friends, he was beginning to think- looking lost and enraged in the middle of a destroyed room. The comfortable chairs Draco had gotten his mother to send him were scattered in several pieces, stuffing and fabric strewn on the ground like so many pebbles. The desks and chairs they’d cleaned up and repaired were splintered and burning in the middle of the room. All of the balls of fairy light they’d stuck to the walls were gone, the pale red light filling the room coming from the back wall, where bioluminescent  _ something _ was painted on the stone, spelling out in block letters:

**WATCH YOURSELF, TRAITOR, OR YOU’LL FALL WITH THE SNAKES**

Cold rage swept through Draco, his hand itching for his wand. He could handle getting attacked semi-regularly. It was almost a tradition in Slytherin at this point. How well you handled being targeted by other Houses played a large roll in how much respect you held. But to threaten his  _ friends _ , to find their hangout, destroy the wards, all to leave a note like that for Harry.

He was a Malfoy, and he had Black blood, but more importantly he was a Slytherin, and while all that meant he would climb to the top, no matter who he trampled, it also meant that he protected his own.

“When?” he asked. None of them looked surprised at his entrance, which meant they’d heard him enter, but Harry did look shocked at the coldness in his voice.

“It was fine when we stopped by yesterday, and we just got here now.” Pansy’s pretty face twisted into a fierce mask of anger, all trace of the prissy gossip girl gone. “I’ll know who did this by dinner.”

“The Gryffindors,” for this reeked of Gryffindors, “Won’t turn on one of their own,” Harry warned.

“ _ You’re _ supposed to be one of their own,” Tracy snapped. Draco was surprised, to say the least. She was generally well tempered and happy, never mad like this. Perhaps Draco wasn’t the only one protective of Harry.

Shrugging, he said, “I’m more snake than lion, and now they know it.”

“A few Hufflepuffs owe me,” Daphne interrupted coolly. “Gryffindors like the brag. I’ll call in a favor and direct them to spread the word.” Pansy nodded her thanks. It would be harder to hunt down the source if it was all over the school by dinner. Between Daphne getting the information and Pansy using her network, whoever did this would be known through the school.

Which would make their revenge a much better message.

With the girls gone- Tracy to accompany them to make sure they didn’t loose it when they found out who was responsible- the three boys set about cleaning up the room. They salvaged what they could, which amounted to two chairs that Repairo actually worked on.

“Well, we’ll have to hunt down somewhere else to hangout, that’s for sure.”

“Somewhere with better wards,” Draco agreed with a scowl. “I knew I should’ve let the girls do them. Pansy is a puzzle mastermind, and Daphne and Tracy are much better with the practical application than I am.” It galled him, that he had to rely on them. He’d been so sure his would work.

“Actually,” Harry said. “I might have an idea of where we could go. But it would take a lot of work, and I’d have to do some exploring to make sure it’s suitable.” He looked uncertain, Draco noted. Like whatever this idea was they wouldn’t like it.

“And why didn’t you suggest this questionable meeting place originally?” Blaise wondered.

“It’s more of a ‘last resort’ kinda place. But,” he glanced around the room, shrugging at the graffiti. “This seems to be no longer an option.”

Unexpectedly, Draco’s anger switched to Harry. This was ridiculous. The threat was targeted at him, yet Harry seemed not to care one wit. “How are you so calm about this?” There wasn’t a single trace of anger, just vague displeasure. “This was done against  _ you _ , just for your friend choice. Aren’t you mad?”

Harry, strangely, looked amused. “Draco, I’m currently entered in a tournament that may kill me because  _ someone _ doesn’t like me. That’s not even going into my first three years where I; faced a possessed teacher, fought a basilisk, and survived dementors while worrying about an escaped convict. Really, this doesn’t even reach my top 10.”  _ Possessed teacher? _ Everyone knew something happened between Harry and Quirrell, but possession? Rather suddenly, Draco realized that, despite the typhoon of rumors that surrounded Harry, he wasn’t actually sure about what the truth of Harry’s school years was. That seemed like something his best friend should know.  _ Weasel probably knows _ , Draco thought with a glower.

“Possessed teacher?” Blaise asked. “Basilisk?”

“Er,” Harry looked uncomfortable, “Doesn’t matter now. The point is that this isn’t that big a deal.”

“It should be,” Draco snarled. Harry looked entirely unamused by his displeasure, so Draco stamped down on it. This could wait, they had more important things to do. “What’s this room then?”

Harry was silent for a moment before saying, “It, ah, might be a little dangerous for outsiders. I’ll take care of it over the holiday break,” which started in less than a week, “And have it ready by the ball. I think.” He shook his head. “Just don’t be surprised if you don’t see me much between now and then.”

“We could help, you know,” Blaise said. Draco found himself agreeing. What could have Harry reluctant to share with them? When Harry shook his head and insisted on doing it himself, Draco let it go. If he didn’t want to trust them, so be it. That didn’t stop a dark voice whispering,  _ he would probably let the blood traitor and mudblood help _ .

Irritated and confused on why exactly he was upset, Draco snapped, “Fine. I have homework, if there’s nothing else.” He turned to Blaise, “I’ll be in the Common Room.” Without another word, Draco stalked out.

* * *

Baffled and uncertain, Harry turned to Blaise. “What just happened?”

“You offended him.” Raising a brow, Blaise sat in one of the newly fixed armchairs, and Harry joined him after a moment. “You’re not actually surprised that Draco Malfoy, possibly the most territorial Slytherin to ever Slytherin, is unhappy that you refuse to share your plans with him?”

That- had not occurred to him. What reason did Draco care that Harry wanted to do his own thing? “It’s not like he tells me everything. Besides, I don’t get why he’s so mad.”

Blaise stared at him, and very slowly said, “Harry, you were just threatened. This,” he waved his hand to the still glowing words, “Is a threat.”

“Well, yeah.” Despite what the Dursleys said, Harry wasn’t stupid. “But so what?”

“So-  _ so what?! _ ” Honestly, Harry was pretty uncertain what they were all freaking out about. Yeah, he was kind of pissed that someone had destroyed their hangout, and he certainly wouldn’t stop the others when they got revenge, but he was also serious about this not being a big deal. After second year, some minor glowing graffiti did little to affect him.

Which, he supposed, really spoke of how insane his life was.

“Harry,” Blaise broke in, staring intently and speaking as if Harry was a child. “You’re our  _ friend _ . Now, I don’t know if that means much to you-“

“Of course it does!”

“But Slytherins don’t usually do friends, so it’s kind of a big deal for us.” Blaise paused, and considered his words. “Actually, I have no idea how a half-blood poster Gryffindor managed to unite nearly all of the Slytherins of our year in an actual friendship and not just a rough alliance, but that’s a conversation for another time. The  _ point _ is that when you get threatened, we’re going to take offense. Same as you would if the situation was reversed.”

“Okay, I get that.” And Harry did. Protecting your friends seemed to be the only thing that a Gryffindor and Slytherin could ever agree to, though they went about it in different ways. But this was different. “And I appreciate it. But I wasn’t kidding when I said this doesn’t really compare to anything I’ve been through.”

Now, Draco’s frustration seemed to have passed to Blaise. “Have you considered the fact that none of us  _ know _ what’s happened to you? Do you even realize the way you avoid answering our questions?”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . No, he hadn’t. He just- he  _ hated _ to think about everything that had happened. The nightmares were bad enough as it was. So bad, in fact, that he’d learned how to put up a silencing spell around his bed at the beginning of third year. He didn’t scream often, had been trained out of that by the Dursleys, but he still talked and twisted. Besides, talking about all of it just reminded Harry of the fact that he’d done all of that with Ronald and Granger (and Merlin, it was still weird to think of them like that, but that was who they were now) and then they’d walked away. In first year they’d been so close, but perhaps their friendship couldn’t withstand the Triwizard Tournament. Or maybe it had started before that, when Harry had so unthinkingly commanded a snake to stay its strike.

“I… those aren’t things I like to talk about.”

Blaise’s eyes softened, but the rest of his face was still held in irritation and confusion. It was such a difference to his normal amused boredom, that it hit Harry how much this must have been bothering him. Bothering everyone.

“But Weasley and Granger know.”

“Well, yeah. But they were there-“

“Exactly.” Despite Blaise saying it as if that solved everything, Harry was still confused. “Look,” he continued with a sigh, “Who’s your best friend?”

“Draco.” And wasn’t that a shocking thing to say. But it had been Draco that starting teaching him about his heritage, it was Draco that offered him advice and comfort before the First Task, and it had been Draco that introduced Harry to the rest of the group. Even now, Harry couldn’t imagine letting any of them go, but it was always Draco he turned to first.

“And before that it was Ronald Weasley. Weasley who, by your own admission, knows all of the things you refuse to tell us, to tell  _ Draco _ , about.”

“Oh.” That made a little more sense. Harry didn’t want Draco to be jealous, didn’t want him doubting that Harry really valued him, but he also wasn’t ready. To explain everything, he’d have to start with first year, and to understand first year you had to know why Harry went to Gryffindor, which meant getting the Dursleys involved and-

Harry had never told anyone that. Absolutely no one. Ronald and Granger had been part of all that, so they’d never needed the details. Even so, they’d picked up hints. And Harry didn’t want  _ pity _ . That was- worse, somehow. Pity was always worse.

“I- I can’t, not yet.” Blaise pursed his lips before his expression shifted to understanding.

“Alright. I may not like it, but I’ll respect it.” Relieved, Harry considered the shift in friend groups he’d gone through. Ronald and Granger would’ve pushed. If it was clear Harry wasn’t interested (like the Dursleys) they would drop it eventually, but never so quickly. Perhaps Slytherins just understood privacy better.

Harry added, “Will you ask Draco to meet me by the loo on the second floor? I want to talk to him.”

“The loo? Really?”

“Really.”

Despite looking at Harry like he was mad, Blaise acquiesced.

* * *

“Alright, I’m here.” Looking up at the familiar drawl- though he hadn’t heard that tone of distaste directed at him in well over a month- Harry took in Draco. His hair, which he’d cut over the summer, was pale and stylish, the exact opposite of Harry’s dark mop. His clothes were the same as always- tight fitted, dark and impeccable, with the robes closed the entire way down in a traditional fashion. Honestly, Harry was glad Pansy had made him order new robes, if only so he didn’t feel so underdressed whenever he was with Draco.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. Draco raised a brow, so he hurried on. “I talked to Blaise. I hadn’t realized that-“ he swallowed, “-not knowing about my past few years bothered you. It didn’t really occur to me that you might be jealous of Ronald.”

“Me? Jealous of a Weasley?” He sneered, but his eyes stayed riveted on Harry and they both knew the gesture was from habit.

“I’m not ready to explain everything.” Draco’s face closed off, his pale gray eyes blank. “Not yet. It- I never would have told Ronald any of it if he hadn’t been there for all of it. So, all I ask is that you respect the fact that I can’t tell you my life story. Not yet.”

There was silence while Draco considered it, and Harry was very aware of how sweaty his palms were. Were friendships always so complicated? Maybe Harry should just avoid people. Become a hermit or something.

“Why do you call him Ronald?”

Startled by the abrupt turn of conversation, it took Harry a moment to understand what he was asking. “Because there are too many Weasleys to just call him that. And… he’s not Ron, not anymore. Besides, I still like the twins, even if I was never close to them.”

“Very well.” Draco smirked at Harry, “Though I don’t understand why we had to have this conversation outside of a loo.” There was a little tension, but enough of it had dissolved for Harry to relax.

“Because,” Harry said with a grin, “I need help, and you’re the only one I trust.” Maybe he couldn’t tell his life story, but he could share this with Draco.

“Oh?”

“I don’t suppose you know how to get rid of the body of a basilisk?”

* * *

Pushing Draco down a pipe in the girls’ bathroom was totally worth the stinging hex and jelly-legs that he got for it. Even if it wasn’t, then the way Draco Malfoy gapped,  _ actually gapped _ , at the Chamber of Secrets was.

“You…” It took him three more tries before he could finish the sentence, “You want to turn the Chamber of Secrets into our meet up spot?”

Shrugging, Harry continued down the path. “Yeah. But the issue, is this.” He gestured at the center of the room, where the basilisk’s near perfect body resided. There must have been charms on the room that kept it fresh, because everything was as it was when he found it. “Plus we’d have to clean the place up. And I have to take a look around and see where all the exists the damn thing used are.”

“Harry,” Draco said in awe, “If you sold even half of the parts from that basilisk, you could pay the Tithe on your seat for two years.”

“Sell? I hadn’t considered that.”

“It would have to be on the black market. But yes, sell. No reason not to. Though I would suggest keeping a small portion for yourself.”

“Magicals have a black market?” Draco gave him a look that clearly stated he was stupid, but Harry was too busy considering what he’d said. He already had plenty of money, but more couldn’t hurt. Besides, if he would someday be Lord, that meant he would one day pass the family fortune to his children. He liked the idea that a part of that fortune would be from him, and not just what came before him.

“Of course. You could speak to your account manager at Gringotts, and they could handle it, or I could ask Father to handle it.”

“Gringotts handles black market dealings?”

“Gringotts handles  _ everything _ . They don’t care much for the laws of wizards, so long as it doesn’t go against the Treaties between us and them. As long as you pay them, that is.”

Harry went over this in his mind, as Draco approached the basilisk and reverently ran a hand down its scales. Now that he thought about it, he should probably ask Gringotts about his vault and see if he had responsibilities to them he should know about. Not to mention, he should know what funds he was working with.

Still, if Lucius Malfoy was an option…

He was Lord Malfoy, and Draco’s father. No doubt he’d want a fee or a favor or something, but perhaps a dealing with him would be worth it. Sirius had recently been talking about deals connecting Houses. Be it just business ventures or marriage contracts, Sirius said keeping connections was always a good idea.

“I’d like to speak with Lord Malfoy, if I could. During the summer, I guess, though I’d wanted this out of here before then.”

“Just talk to him when you stay with us.”

“I’m sorry what? I must have misheard you, Draco, because I could’ve sworn you just told me I was  _ staying _ with you.”

Draco smirked and sauntered over to him. He flicked Harry on the forehead. “Your hearing is fine, Harry. This is what I wanted to say before I noticed the state of our room. You are invited to come to Malfoy Manor for our Yule Ball and the three days of vacation leading up to it.”

“But how would I get back? I’m a Champion. Which, by the way, shouldn’t that mean I’m not allowed to leave anyway?”

“The Board of Directors, at Father’s insistence, has voted to have the Hogwarts Express run on the 26 th , just in time for the Hogwarts Ball on the 27 th , so that children that want to return home for Yule may, and still partake. If anyone needs to head home after that, the Head of Houses will have their Floo open. It has also been decided that Champions will be allowed to leave for the days leading up the Christmas but not again afterward.” Draco practically radiated smugness as he finished with a little bow.

After taking a minute to fully digest this, Harry laughed. “Alright, I admit it. That was good Draco. I take it this was your doing?”

“Father helped,” he added oh-so humbly. “I will, of course, spend at least two of those three days drilling the necessary information and manners into your head. I fully intend for you to wow everyone at your first social appearance.”

“And the fact that my first social appearance is at Malfoy Manor has no meaning behind it, hmm?”

Draco only smiled pleasantly and sauntered towards the door. “Come, Harry, or we’re going to be late for dinner. I want to make sure the girls haven’t gone to Azkaban for murder yet.

“Besides,” he added, with a glance over his shoulder at the basilisk, “I can teach you the charms needed to help me butcher this thing tomorrow.”

Harry couldn’t believe he had a friend that could say that with a straight face. Moreover, Harry couldn’t believe he had an answering smirk. His life really was messed up. Almost as bad as a fantasy book or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Dark Arts- Yep, that's the reasoning I'm going for. Mainly cause I need a solid line between Dark and Light for [REASON REDACTED] and will come into play at the end of fourth year.  
> Tracy- To clarify, yes this does mean her magic is naturally inclined to Light. That does not mean, however, that she supports Dumbledore. There is a huge difference between magically Light and politically Light.  
> Sirius and Remus- Sirius was a dick as a teenager, no doubt. He was, however, a loyal dick. I refuse to believe that Sirius willing orchestrated a situation that he knew would end in either Remus death (if Sirius did want Snape dead) or his exposure (why this did not happen will come up, but down the line because it is so very minor of a plot point)  
> Harry's response to his past three years- He is fourteen. FOURTEEN. He faced a teacher possessed by the man that killed his parents and was then minor-ly responsible for said teachers death, he fought and killed one of the most dangerous creatures known to wizarding kind right after nundu and chimeras, and then spent a year believing he was being hunted by the man who betrayed his parents while being surrounded. There is nothing you can say to convince me he doesn't have a bunch of psych issues.


	11. Negociations et Balles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on the Dark Arts; compare them to turn base RPG or pokemon. Light vs Dark is basically Stat Boosts vs Straight up attacks   
> Draco and his character- I refuse to believe the House of the Cunning just let him get away with shouting "you'll be next mudbloods". No, just no. So, for the sake of this fic, he went through some character development during second and third year. Any more details on what changed, though, are coming down the line  
> I Updated the amount for tithes   
> Updated Senator #1 from Lucas Bole to Daniel Davis  
> WARNING: on language, use of fag and other derogatory terms which I DO NOT CONDONE in this chapter. Please take note of these  
> I am unhappy with this chapter. I am unhappy with the next chapter. However, staring at Word and screeching at my cats doesn't seem to be helping improve it, so here you go. This chapter is so long because the next chapter is a little shorter, but both come to about 22,000 words, so i figured you all would be fine with it. That being said, my goal was to make you all cry at least once at some point during these two chapters but I doubt it'll happen. The next chapter IS done, but I'm going to wait a few days before posting it because, honestly, I have absolutely no idea where to go after it. I start college after next week, so be aware that updates will SLOW DOWN. Like, a lot. Anyway, here you go.

#  **Sunday, December 11 th, 1994**

As it happens, the girls had found out the names of the perpetrators; Cormac McLaggen, Brian Cinderford, and Cindey Crockett. Three Gryffindors, each of who had a parent who had fought for the Light and died against Death Eaters. A part of Harry understood why they would hate Death Eaters and those that sided with them. Another, bigger part, wanted them to pay for their bigotry against Slytherins. Even if Harry had the distinct feeling that his friends, save maybe Tracy and Daphne, would side with Voldemort if given the chance. But that was a conversation for another time.

Dinner was filled with the other Houses passing on the story of how three Gryffindors had broken in and wrecked a “baby snake hide-out”. Some seemed to find this amusing (Gryffindors) and others seemed to consider this to be in poor taste (Ravenclaws) while others just shook their heads and went on with their dinners (Hufflepuffs). The Slytherins, however, side eyed their group, and Harry caught several looks of worry. He was confused, until he heard Merula Snyde, Felix Rosier’s second, snicker softly and murmur, “I almost feel pity for the Gryffindorks. Getting on a Malfoy’s bad side is just stupid.” _So they’re worried that Draco might be in a bad mood and are staying clear_. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what Draco’s position in House was. Only that he sat close to Rosier’s crowd, a few sixth years dividing them, while other older students glared or smiled brightly at him. It seemed he knew all of the younger years, though he never really spoke to them at dinner. Harry probably wouldn’t learn more unless he could get into the Slytherin Common Room, which didn’t seem likely.

After they ate, they found another abandoned classroom with a few desks and chairs.

“Well,” Daphne said after she was done helping put up some security wards. “It’ll do for now, but we need a more permanent solution.”

“Don’t worry.” Harry smirked at her, “I have something in mind. It’ll be ready by the time we leave, so I’ll show it to you after the Hogwarts Ball.”

“Oh?” Pansy purred, but stopped when Draco laughed.

“You’ll find out what it is later.” They all paused, turning to Draco and taking in his satisfied smirk and casual stance. Soon, they dropped it.

“Right,” Tracy turned to face the rest of them. “As much as I’d love to watch whatever hell you plan for the Gryffindicks,” Harry choked a little, “I’ll help scheme, but I won’t take part.” Her eyes swept to Harry as she added, “I’m staying out of this.”

“Agreed,” Daphne said. “Revenge is always a good choice, but Tracy and I will be sitting somewhere very public when you all do your thing.” The things one did to keep neutrality, Harry pondered.

Which just left the question on whether he would join. Did he want to? They were his House-mates, even if they were arseholes. And he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was bothered, but not enraged over the threat. Still, he’d worked hard with the others to set up that room. And now they’d have to move somewhere else, somewhere more secure. Harry didn’t mind showing them the Chamber, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his silence on the topic of his past forever and this was sure to speed up the process.

These three had destroyed something he and his friends had worked on. Just because they were Slytherins.

“I’m in,” he found himself saying.

“Alright,” Draco grinned slowly. “Let’s get planning.”

As they schemed and plotted, Harry began to understand why the other Slytherins had stayed away from their group. As it turns out, when a Malfoy, Zabini, and Parkinson all wanted revenge, they could come up with some truly terrifying things.

* * *

 

**Monday, December 12 th, 1994**

Within Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there were a great many number of magical things. Wands, spells, creatures. Doors that were sometimes there, sometimes not. Stairs that moved. The rumor mill. There were superstitions and there were certain conceptions that were so believed, that to go against them was blasphemy.

One of these preconceptions was that Slytherins were evil, and would always be the enemy. Which was why, on a cold December Monday, a day after word filtered through the age old gossip line that a few certain Slytherins had been bested by Gryffindors, everyone was very, _very_ , wary of said pre-mentioned Slytherins.

Instead of being moody, cruel, or even blood thirsty, these Slytherins were downright cheerful. They went through their classes with smiles, were always polite, and even greeted Gryffindors gleefully. This, of course, had the (un?) fortunate side effect of making the rest of the student body extremely jumpy. Even the visiting students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, some of which actually know these particular Slytherins, were uncomfortable with the sense of impending doom that hung over the castle.

The rest of Slytherin House also seemed in good spirits, though not to the extent of the fourth years. Amused and intrigued were perhaps better descriptors. When asked why _they_ were happy, most only smiled blandly and moved on.

Rumors flitted about like birds, some claiming they’d already had revenge and were now satisfied, some saying the students had been replaced by robots, and another, coming from a blond little Raven, idly mentioning that the aforementioned Slytherin students were simply excited for their slumber party.

This strange, almost _magical_ , occurrence was so odd, that a Ravenclaw student by the name Lucas Bole, ever curious, spoke with his older brother Lucian, who happened to be a Slytherin himself.

When questioned, however, Lucian Bole had only this to say;

“Never piss off a Zabini. Never betray a Parkinson. Never get on a Malfoy’s bad side. And never, _absolutely never_ , anger all three at once.”

“But they’re all so damn cheerful. It’s creepy.”

“Lucas, if those three are cheerful, it’s because they’ve managed to strike a bargain with the Morrigan. Just relax, and watch the show from afar.”

* * *

 

**Tuesday, December 13 th, 1994**

Fiona Belmont, seventh year Gryffindor Prefect, woke at six as she did every morning. She found spending time meditating in the Common Room before the rest of the House woke up was a great way to relax and prepare her for the no doubt arduous day ahead.

When she took the final step down the stairs, humming under her breath, she looked up expecting to see couches and love seats of red and gold, clean as always because of the ever loyal House Elves. Instead, she saw a very different sight.

Fiona Belmont screamed.

* * *

 

If rumors had flown yesterday, today they rioted like raging hippogriffs, loud and front and center on everyone’s minds.

_“What’s everyone going on about?”_

_“Didn’t you hear? Cormac McLaggen, Brian Cinderford, and Cindey Crockett_ _were all found in the Gryffindor Common Room, tied up.”_

 _“I heard McLaggen had_ antlers _coming out of his head, while the other two were covered in flakey scales like snakes.”_

_“They were dangling from the ceiling, the rope hooked around their armpits and legs. They were even gagged.”_

_“Their clothes were shredded, like some wild animal came upon them.”_

_“I wonder who did it.”_

_“It was the Slytherins, duh. You heard how McLaggen destroyed their hangout.”_

_“But how would they have gotten in?”_

_“You don’t think…”_

_“If you had asked me last year, I wouldn’t have even suggested it. Now though-“_

_“Potter wouldn’t…”_

_“He’s hanging out with Slytherins. He totally would.”_

_“How did their roommates not hear though?”_

_“Silencing charms?”_

_“What spells do ya reckon they used?”_

_“I don’t know, but I heard they’ll all be in the Hospital Wing for at least three days. Something about their eyes.”_

At the Slytherin table, they- as always- kept up appearances and refused to lower themselves to such obvious gossiping as the rest of the school. That did not stop them from murmuring quietly and subtly questioning what the real story was. Not once did anyone ask _who_ or _how_ or _why_. A Slytherin did what was necessary, by whatever means. That didn’t need to be explained.

And even though they all knew that they’d soon be questioned by their Heads of Houses, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson speculated on the rumors and stubbornly kept up confused but pleasant expressions.

Little did they know that this would be the event that caused the idiom “Never threaten a Potter” to start.

The entire time, none of them noticed that, while many of the Professors stared at them with suspicion or disappointment, only one watched them with consideration.

* * *

 

**Wednesday, December 14 th, 1994**

“I’m telling you, you need three circles to get it to function.”

“At least seven!”

“Three!”

“Don’t you just love these deep, intellectual conversations?” Harry asked Draco, as they both watched in amusement as Daphne and Blaise argued over Runic arrays. Harry had asked them to teach him the basics of Ancient Runes, so that he could decide whether he really wanted to study and test into the OWL class next year. This had, of course, led to an argument on which language to start him off with (as apparently there were half a dozen) which had in turn transformed into an argument on how many layers it required for a basic ward, how many for different type of spells, and so on and so on.

Meanwhile, Draco quietly began explaining the basics that Professor Babbling had taught them in their first few lessons during third year.

“Harry,” Tracy interrupted loudly over their squabbling, “What colour are your robes for the ball? My mother plans on taking me shopping before Yule.”

“Uh, I don’t actually have any yet? I was going to order some.” Now that he thought about it, Harry should really get on that.

“Absolutely not.” Draco looked horrified, in that pompous way that only he could pull off. “Ordered robes never fit right. Remember how Pansy had to resize the few you got in November? We’ll just take you out to Diagon. You’ll need a set for the Yule Ball at my home anyway.” He looked across Harry to Tracy. “We’ll set up a time for us all to go together, if that works?”

“That reminds me,” Pansy added, turning to Daphne, who seemed to be involved in a very intense staring contest with Blaise. “Who are you two going to the Hogwarts dance with?”

“Aiden Avery. I take it you’ll be going with Draco.” Pansy nodded and Harry found himself chocking on air. Something twisted in his stomach. Not jealously, never jealousy, but… betrayal maybe? That Draco hadn’t told him. Which was an entire other issue that he didn’t want to consider. Still, when had that started?

Pansy giggled, but explained, “My father is pushing for a betrothal contract, which Lord Malfoy continues denying. It keeps him from questioning my progress on ‘wooing the Malfoy Heir’ if I do something like this every year or so.” His stomach settled, leaving Harry less unhappy and more confused.

“Betrothal contract?”

“Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon, especially among ennobled purebloods,” Draco explained. “Father wants me to marry Daphne-“

“And Daphne is uninterested and has made such known,” she broke in.

“But Lord Greengrass wants his Heiress to marry someone outside of Britain to expand their influence,” he gave a very pointed look to Blaise, who ignored him, “Though Father seems to think it likely that he’ll agree to a marriage contract with Astoria, Daphne’s sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yes,” Daphne seemed very proud, and Harry was surprised to see her face relax. So the Ice Princess had a soft spot. “She’s a year younger. I’ll introduce you sometime.”

So the Parkinsons want a pairing with the Malfoys, Malfoys want a betrothal to the Greengrasses, the Greengrasses want to marry the Zabinis. Was _anything_ simple anymore?

“What about you, Blaise?” Pansy purred, leaning forward and drawing the conversation back to the original topic.

“His latest closet partner,” Draco snickered.

“Zacharias Smith has indeed agreed to go to the dance with me.” Blaise said something else, no doubt poking fun at Draco or being witty, but Harry couldn’t hear over the rushing blood in his head. _Zacharias Smith_. That was a Hufflepuff from their year. Blaise had said he was taking _Zacharias Smith_. Which was-

Fine. It was perfectly fine. It meant nothing, and clearly Harry was hearing wrong, or missing something obvious. Maybe Blaise was being sarcastic. Yeah, that would make sense. Because the other option was…

Across the table, Pansy’s clever eyes narrowed and flickered, and Harry cursed whatever his face was doing. Something unsatisfactory, apparently, because when the others left ten minutes later, she pulled him back and gave him a scowl.

“Okay, what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” Maybe if he just kept acting casual she would give up and drop this. Or he could just play dumb, or make it clear that this was not a topic that would be welcomed. There were plenty of options to get out of this. Plenty of ways to escape so he could let his stomach stop its queasy twisting away from her clever eyes.

“Don’t be obtuse. When Blaise was talking about Smith,” oh Merlin, he hadn’t heard wrong, “Your face twitched, and you’ve been uncomfortable ever since.”

“I think you’re seeing things, Pansy.” Deny, deny, deny. It hadn’t stopped the taunts or the beatings, but maybe it would work on Pansy. She was his friend, and she’d understand when he wanted a topic dropped.

She scowled, and he expected another command to stop being dim witted, but instead her voice went deadly serious.

“Are you homophobic?”

 _What?_ Of all the things he’d expected, that was not one of them. He reared back, trying to pull away from her, but the grip on his arm just tightened.

“It’s rare,” _rare?_ “But I know some people are. I never would’ve pegged you for one-”

“Pansy,” he interrupted, swallowing and pushing away everything that had come to mind when she’d spoken.

( _“You’re such a ponce.”_

 _“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with him. He’s a bloody fag.”_ )

“I’m not homophobic.” What he is, is done with this topic. Sexuality was not a matter he welcomed.

( _He had to stop running, he couldn’t_ breathe _. But if he stopped, they’d catch him. Already, he could hear their taunts growing louder and louder._

_“Get back here you twink!”_

_“Stop running, faggot!” He had to keep running or they would catch him. The last time Dudley had caught him, his arm had broken. He still didn’t know how it had healed so quickly, only that after two days it was only a little sore and Aunt Petunia was convinced he’d faked the whole thing. He hadn’t eaten for three days._ )

“Well, then you better explain why you would-” stopping abruptly, she stared at him. He could nearly see the wheels turning in her head, picking him apart like a puzzle and figuring what piece this was and where it fit. Typically, he might admire her brilliance or respect her for realizing she was missing something here. Instead, he was far too busy trying to push everything that had come loose into the box where it normally rested. Somewhere far in the back of his mind where he didn’t have to consider the ugly truth-

( _“You’re just a freak!” Spittle flew and Harry backed towards his cupboard. Uncle Vernon was angry, and while Harry hated being trapped, he knew he was safe from further harm in his cupboard. Dudley had come home whining about Valentine’s Day and how everything was covered in pink. Harry thought it was stupid as well, but would never say that. What he thought was stupider was the way the girls kept making doe eyes at the boys. It wasn’t as if any of the boys in their class were attractive-_ )

“You know,” Pansy was saying, a blessed anchor in the memories trying to drag him under, “I once heard that muggles were less accepting of alternate sexualities. I hadn’t believed even they could be so closed minded until now.”

 _Less accepting_ , as if it was even possible to accept a- a _freak_ like him. Even here, even in this beautiful world where his magic was accepted, he _still_ had to be the outcast. If not because of his scar, then because he was…

“Harry,” Pansy spoke kindly, and at some point, she had dragged them into two chairs facing each other. He tried to pull away again, but instead of gripping his arm, she held onto his two hands in her own. Her hands were soft, Harry thought distantly. There were no callouses, no small scars from gardening without gloves. Different from his own. So very different from _him_. “You clearly hadn’t known about betrothal contracts before tonight, but has anyone explained to you about sexuality and relationships in the wizarding world?”

He choked out a word that might have been a negative. Harry hadn’t considered that it would be any different. A mistake, considering how strange and dissimilar this world was.

“Wizards don’t particularly care about sexualities, because having blood heirs is still possible using magic. Well, it used to be. Back before 1808- when all Blood Magic was banned- people used to blood adopt if they couldn’t have children of their own. Now a days, it is necessary to marry someone from the opposite sex to sire a child, but after that it’s generally acceptable for wizards and witches to find alternate partners if they aren’t attracted to their spouse. It’s why arranged marriages are so customary.” She stared into Harry’s face, and he had no idea what expression he wore. Confusion? Surprise?

Delight?

“No one cares if someone is gay, or straight. Most assume someone is bisexual unless told otherwise.” No one cares…

( _Fag. Ponce. Twink._ Freak.)

People care. People _always_ care.

He can’t speak, his throat is closed up so far. Harry wants to believe her, he does. This is Pansy, and Pansy is his friend and would never lie about this, but there’s also the fact that he’s spent the last thirteen years being told something completely different.

Indistinctly, he thought he heard Pansy sigh heavily. She murmured something that, only later when he couldn’t sleep, he would register as _“I’ll kill those filthy muggles myself.”_

“Harry,” she whispered gently, and he brought himself to look up at her. She was smiling softly, though there was something worried in her eyes. His mind was whirling, trying to reconciliate what he was being told with what he’d known his entire life.

( _“Faggot. You’re such a freak, Potter.”_ )

“You don’t have to declare it to the entire world if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to tell us, but I just want you to know that we don’t care. We’ll support you no matter what.” He’d never seen Pansy so soft, so caring. It was new and strange, and he half missed the terrifying creature that had appeared when they’d planned their revenge on the Gryffindors. _When did I stop thinking of myself as a Gryffindor?_

“You should try to get some sleep,” she finally said. She stood, hesitated, and hugged him. It was fierce but short enough that he didn’t have time to lock up. Something he appreciated. “Get some sleep, Harry,” she repeated firmly. “We’ll all see you at breakfast.” Pansy said it like a promise, and Harry thought he might cry from the warmth in her eyes and voice. _We’ll all see you at breakfast_. Because he had friends that would be there for him. It was such a stupid thing to get emotional about. Such a simple thing. He’d heard it a hundred times in these last few weeks. And yet…

_We’ll all see you at breakfast._

_We’ll support you no matter what_.

Something in him tightened and his eyes burned, even as Pansy walked away. She was right, he should get some sleep. He’d have to hurry back to the Tower, less he missed curfew.

Yet-

 _No one cares if someone is gay_.

There were so many things swirling in his mind. Shouts and the sounds of fists hitting flesh, the burning pain of a belt on his back, the crack of a bone. _Faggot. Ponce. Freak_.

There was a burning in his eyes and throat and when he breathed it came out as a sob.

( _“Useless lay-about!” Aunt Petunia screeched, waving the pan in her hand like a war spear. “Get out! Go deal with the garden, or they’ll be no food for a freak like you!_ )

( _“Stop staring at me, fag!” Jack Andersmith, two years older than Harry, shouted. He’d only wanted to ask if he could join the game of tag._ )

Above all of that though, above the sneers and insults and screams of pain that were Harry’s own, there was something else. A soft voice, gentle and kind, from a sharp, cunning witch.

_No one cares if someone is gay._

_We’ll all see you at breakfast_.

And others, a reminder to be his best from an icy princess, a deep felt speech on the importance of magic instead of quiet sarcasm, a murmured healing spell after an evening of dueling.

A gripped forearm in a secret passage before Harry faced a dragon.

 _Don’t do something as Gryffindorishly stupid as die_.

 _Magic is a_ gift _._

 _You don’t have to be_ the _best, but you should be_ your _best._

_You never can catch Draco’s Cutting Hex, can you?_

Around and around in his mind, just like the original taunt that had led him here, to this moment. Echoes of the past, but ones he welcomed and gladly let overpower memories better left buried.

_We’ll all see you at breakfast._

See him at breakfast, because Harry had friends that didn’t care, even if he were to tell them tomorrow that he was-

 _No one cares if someone is gay_.

The burning was scorching now, and Harry felt like his insides were burning even as he breathed deeply and ignored how his breath sounded like a sob.

_We’ll all see you at breakfast._

_No one cares if someone is gay._

Harry should get up and make his way to Gryffindor Tower, but he was too busy feeling warm and comforted, too busy drowning in echoes and crying away as a burden, only one of many, lifted.

* * *

 

**December 15 th-16th, 1994**

Eventually, Harry pulled himself together enough to head back to the Tower. By that point, most were asleep, so he avoided any questions about his no doubt ghastly appearance on his way to the bathroom. He felt a twinge of worry at Ronald’s accusing look- he wouldn’t be surprised if Ronald turned him in for breaking curfew- but decided that he could deal with that when he wasn’t so emotionally wrung out.

The next two days flew by, mixed with end of term exams, receiving holiday homework, and Harry’s continued study of Ancient Runes. While not sure what about the subject drew him in, Harry found himself fascinated more and more, quickly picking up the study. He wondered if he could set up defensive spells around his bed in Gryffindor Tower, or make a lasting allusion that made it appear as if he was asleep using Runes.

The only other thing of note was the development of the Chamber. As they only had the two nights before they left and the night they returned to work on it, they worked quickly and efficiently. As it turns out, there were several other exits, one of which appeared to be the main one instead of the sink tunnel.

It connected to the tunnel where the shed skin was, right after the cave in. There was a carving on the wall in what Draco described as squiggles, but Harry saw as a rather fancy cursive English. Parselscript, because apparently that was a thing.

_Speak your name in our tongue, Master of the Chamber, and follow with a word of power and secrecy._

After considering it for some time, Draco suggested that the second part might mean set a password. After some consideration, Harry set it to “basilisk” in English, just to see if it would work in something other than Parseltongue. To his surprise and delight, it did, though when Draco spoke the word it didn’t do anything. Following a few more minutes of playing around, Harry figured out he had to give permission, in Parseltongue, for a certain person to enter as they pleased for it to answer to Draco.

The passage let out in a back hallway that Draco said was three hallways over from the Slytherin Common Room and one hallway over from Snape’s private room, and Harry left the password as it was. The other three passages they discovered and cleared of bones and dust led from inside the Chamber itself to; the bottom of Ravenclaw Tower, a stone behind the Quidditch Pitch, and a random hallway on the seventh floor marked by a tapestry of dancing trolls. Each pathway got set with the same password (as apparently you had to set them all individually) and was marked with a tiny, barely there snake that you had to know to look for.

As for the Chamber itself, they used cleaning charms to remove the dirt, redirect the water into its pools, and clean up the blood from the huge basilisk- after Draco taught Harry butchering charms (the oddest part of which was Harry morbidly wondering what the use of them in battle would look like) and they stored the ingredients they could sell and burned the rest. At first, Harry could barely look at the thing, less he be filled with memories from second year, but after so much time he grew used to it, if not comfortable. They set up glowing fairy lights and floating balls of Lumos. They didn’t have time to furnish it, but figured they could wait for the others to do something like that. This was for all of them, after all.

* * *

Saturday, December 17th, 1994

For the first time in his life, Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express for the winter holidays with much of the rest of the school. He was nervous, constantly twitching at unexpected noises, though no one except his friends noticed. When asked, he confessed he half expected Dumbledore to show up and tell him he couldn’t leave. When they all digested that and noted that, as Harry’s magical guardian, Dumbledore had that right, they surrounded Harry like a protective bubble and shot several locking charms at the door when they all piled into a compartment. Despite his fears, though, the ride passed peacefully with no kidnaping attempts on Harry. Unless this counted as one, of course.

As Harry had sent a letter off to Sirius, informing him that he’d be with the Malfoys for the next week and return on the 26th and not to contact him until then, he had nothing to distract him except his friends. And the shopping trip that was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, accompanied by Lady Malfoy and Lady Parkinson who, according to Pansy, was the Head Designer and Owner of a celebrated clothing line. While Tracy and Pansy talked clothing with- surprisingly- Blaise, Harry, Draco and Daphne argued about the Defense essay on the morals of what is and is not okay to use in a battle assigned by Moody.

At least Harry didn’t have to consider the fact that he would be spending a week with the man who he had embarrassed two years prior. And who he had sneered at during the World Cup. And who probably hated him because he had kind-of-accidently killed Lord Malfoy’s master when he was a baby. That wasn’t even touching on Lady Malfoy, who was Sirius’s cousin and someone Sirius had actually been close to once upon a time. Yeah, nothing to worry about.

Sadly, Harry’s method of ignoring the problem until it went away didn’t help and most certainly didn’t stop him from facing both when they finally disembarked from the train. Draco, who had been sending him worried glances for the past hour, bumped shoulders with him. It wasn’t much, but it comforted Harry nonetheless. At least he wouldn’t be alone in facing what was considered the most important couple in modern day politics and society.

“Father, Mother.” Draco smiled warmly, though he didn’t drop the mask.

Lord Malfoy remained unsmiling, though Harry thought he detected fondness in his eyes when he nodded a greeting. Lady Malfoy smiled prettily, but it also seemed to be a “public mask” kind of smile.

“May I present to you the Good Heir Harry Potter of House Potter. Harry, these are my parents, the Right Honorable Duke Lucius Malfoy of Malfoy, and Lady Narcissa Malfoy.” As Lady Malfoy married into the family and wasn’t the actually family head, she was introduced second and didn’t receive a fancy title.

Harry bowed at the waist, stopping exactly at the depth that Draco had taught, his arms flat at his sides and palms facing outward to show he was unarmed. “Well met, Lord Malfoy. An honor to finally have a proper introduction to someone Draco has spoken so highly of.” Lord Malfoy tipped his head. Lady Malfoy offered her left hand, so Harry took it and bowed while kissing the air above her knuckles, his other hand still flat and at his side. “Well met, Lady Malfoy. Your beauty and elegance were underexaggerated. I understand now why Pansy is so envious of you.”

She smiled, this one sharper as her eyes pierced him. “Well met, Heir Potter. Our Draco did not lie when he spoke of your change in attitude it seems. Always pleasant when wizards and witches take up their mantle in our society, no?” Lord Malfoy had clearly spoken of their only meeting in second year then. And her wording… a veiled inquiry into his stance on the Wizangamot rankings and perhaps a question as to why this sudden change.

“You have my deepest apologies, Lady and Lord Malfoy, for the offenses of the past. I have only recently learned of much that was hidden from me, something I am trying to rectify.” That caught Lord Malfoy’s attention and Harry nearly squirmed. Having someone so clearly high and powerful focus fully on him made him want to shudder out an apology and back away. When adults looked at him with interest, it usually meant something bad. Still, he had to keep his head. They had opened their home to him, and Draco had assured him that they wouldn’t dare harm a house guest. To do so was a grave sin and one not even a Dark wizard would sink to. A reminder of that wouldn’t go amiss, though. “That conversation, I think, can be saved though. And please, Lady Malfoy, you have opened your home to me. Call me Harry.”

She smiled again, a little more genuine. “We are happy to have you, Harry. And please call me Narcissa.” Draco inhaled sharply, but it was so quiet that Harry only noticed because he was right next to them. Early, perhaps, for Lady Malfoy to offer use of her full name? More than likely, it was because of Harry’s status and wanting to cultivate a relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived. “Now, come along the both of you. We’ll be having dinner in an hour and you both need to freshen up. And Harry of course needs to see his rooms.” They all headed for the floo, and with some dumb luck Harry managed not to make a fool of himself. After stepping out of their receiving room (a huge, marble room decorated tastefully with portraits and flowers), Harry was led to his rooms across the hall from Draco’s while the elder Malfoys left towards what he assumed was a sitting room or study.

The entirety of Malfoy Manor was done in white marble and wood floors covered in rugs, candelabras littering the walls along side portraits of ancestors and famous scenes. Fresh flowers danced in their vases along little round tables, each of dark oak to match the crowning. While the hallways twisted around each other, meeting at strange intersections that didn’t seem possible, Draco led the way with ease, holding a running commentary of what was what. It was huge and imposing and Harry was more than a little in awe, to Draco’s obvious satisfaction.

When they finally got to the guest room that was for Harry, Draco gleefully explained it was one they usually reserved for the most honored and trusted guests because it was in the same wing (Harry had never been in a house that had _wings_ before, and it took him a moment to connect it with the term for locations in a building and not the flying device) as the family residencies.

Stepping in, Harry had to swallow three times to stop from gasping, crying, or all three. It was a huge suite, with a small sitting room filled with several comfy looking chairs and low tables for teatime, a bathroom with a full, clawfoot tub that was done in a dark gray marble, and a bedroom with a king canopy bed and dark mahogany desk. Everything was in dark grays offset with creams and Harry couldn’t believe he had all this space to himself.

“I really don’t need this much space,” he finally forced himself to murmur. He didn’t, and he also didn’t want to inconvenience the family that was being so kind to him despite past enmity. Compared to his other living spaces- the Tower where he shared with four other boys, the small room filled with Dudley’s junk, and his _cupboard_ \- this was really too much.

“Nonsense.” Draco waved away his complaints, smug with his accomplishment of getting Harry into this room and even getting him near speechless. He moved out into the hall, warning of the approaching dinner. Alone, Harry found his trunk at the end of the bed. He stared at it, wondering when his life had gone so far off the deep in.

He was in Malfoy Manor, being hosted by the Malfoy’s for the winter holidays, surrounded in the lap of luxury and not even worried. Maybe he should be apprehensive of murder attempts or something, but instead he just felt a warm bubbly feeling that he named excitement. Lord Malfoy was a Slytherin, and a politician, and Harry had come to make a highly illegal deal with him. Lady Malfoy- Narcissa- was his father’s cousin, a Slytherin and born a Black. Every part of this screamed mistake, danger, a Lion in a Snake Pit.

All Harry felt was exhilaration at the prospect of what was sure to come.

* * *

Dinner went surprisingly well, which just made Harry more worried for the rest of his stay. Narcissa was delightful, asking questions about their time at school, offering tidbits of her own Hogwarts years. Some of those involved Sirius, and Harry feigned displeasure at the reminder of him, causing Narcissa to move from them quickly, to Harry’s disappointment. Still, no one knew that Sirius was innocent and still in contact with Harry, so to the outside world, Harry should hate him. Even if all he wanted was to hear more about him.

The only strange occurrence was when conversation turned to childhoods over desert. Harry wasn’t really sure when the topic had changed- which made the Malfoys really good at guiding discussions- but somehow, he found himself avoiding detailed questions on his childhood. Draco’s eyes narrowed, and Harry had no doubt that the elder Malfoys also noticed, but when Lord Malfoy asked what his childhood had been like with _muggles_ (the word was covered in disgust), Harry politely answered that it was, “different from what Draco no doubt experienced, but survivable.” He knew his wording caught their attention- survivable, not _enjoyable_ \- and that they realized that he didn’t defend muggles from Lord Malfoy’s thinly veiled repugnance.

To be honest, Harry didn’t _hate_ all muggles. That would be like when he judged the entirety of Slytherin because of Voldemort, which was something he was trying to avoid. What he was slowly coming to realize though, was that the Traditionalists were right. To an extent, that is.

Magicals and muggles didn’t really mix, and they honestly shouldn’t. Harry sometimes wondered, when he was feeling particularly morbid, how many muggleborns ended up dead before their eleventh birthday because of religious fanatics “purifying” them, or just because of abuse driven by their scared relatives. Harry hated the Dursleys, and didn’t care one wit what happened to them, but if there was one couple like that, surely there were more?

In the end, desert finished without some nasty revelation on Harry’s childhood and he turned in, falling deeply asleep without any prompting other than the sinfully soft bed.

* * *

 

He dreamt that night. Well, he had another “dream” that was shockingly similar to the one he’d had before school started. To be honest, he was rather surprised he’d managed this long without another horrible nightmare that felt more like a vision of questionable origin.

This time though, it was a lot more confusing. Dark, dusty hallways, the sound of scales gliding on wood. Flashes of faces and snippets of conversation that he couldn’t make sense of.

* * *

 

_Wormtail, sniveling on the floor and edging not-so-subtly towards the door. “You’ve failed me.” A high, hissing voice, the edges touched with Parseltongue. “You told me you could brew the potion.”_

_“I’m sorry, my Lord! I-” Screaming._

* * *

 

_Another man, blonde with something boyish in his bright blue eyes. He seemed vaguely familiar, though Harry was too busy listening to his fervent report, and the hissing creature’s intrigued hum to think much of it._

_“You are certain?”_

_“Yes, my Lord. Everyone knew that the Gryffindors were accountable by dinner the first night. I’m certain the girls are responsible for that. And your House seemed amused, and certain of the perpetrators, even if none would dare turn on each other.”_

_“A snake in lion’s skin, perhaps?”_

* * *

 

_The blonde man again._

_“Your orders, my Lord?”_

_“Keep an eye on him. Ensure that he passes the Second Task. And… find out if the cub has journeyed away from his keeper.”_

* * *

 

Harry woke panting, his head burning. Already, the details were floating away, leaving a vague sense of unease and a single sentence. _A snake in lion’s skin_.

* * *

 

**Sunday, December 18 th, 1994**

After a hot, full breakfast served by House Elves (that Harry didn’t see abused, or even wearing bandages), Narcissa guided them to the floo and the three of them set out. What Lord Malfoy was planning for the day, Harry wasn’t sure, nor did he dare ask.

“Harry!” Tracy bounced up, but stopped short of hugging him, settling instead for a wave and a grin. Daphne and Pansy, both much calmer and more elegant, followed behind accompanied by a dark haired woman with deep green eyes that had to be Lady Parkinson.

The floo flared again as Draco and then Narcissa stepped out.

“Well met, Lady Malfoy.” The girls all curtsied in sink, while Draco bowed to Lady Parkinson and Harry waited to be introduced.

“Mother,” Pansy simpered, “Meet the Good Heir Harry Potter of House Potter. Harry, this is my mother, the Lady Delilah Parkinson.”

“Well met, Lady Parkinson. Pansy has told me of your designer line, and I am honored you would join us today.” He smiled sheepishly when he came out of the bow. “I’m a tad incompetent when it comes to fashion, I’m afraid.” It was strange, to just admit a weakness like that when he’d spent the last month and a half being taught to never show weakness by the very Slytherins surrounding him. But Pansy had once said that she’d learned her rumor mongering skills from her mum, and that meant Lady Parkinson would enjoy the gossip and be more inclined to like him if he asked her for help.

She laughed lightly, a tinkling sort of sound. A public laugh, but no less genuine Harry thought. “Well met, Heir Potter. I’ll be happy to help you find something suitable.” She turned then, to Narcissa. “Narcissa, it has been a while.”

“Too long.” They exchanged kisses on each cheek. Right as Harry was going to ask about Blaise, the floo flared and a giant, hulking man, nearly as tall as Hagrid but more muscle with buzz cut hair, stepped out. A second later, Blaise follow. Greetings again went around, and Blaise introduced the large man as his bodyguard, Julio. Which, now that Harry thought about it, made sense considering Blaise was related to Wizarding Royalty. He was like, the twelfth in line, but still.

Finally, they all set down Diagon Alley. They headed to Gringotts, and Harry asked to be taken down to his vault. After denying Narcissa’s offer of accompaniment, he headed down alone as the others finished whatever business they had in the main room.

Yesterday, on the train, Harry had spoken to Daphne quietly about the Goblins. Tracy had been occupied and the others were from Traditionalist families who looked down on sub-human creatures, so she was the best to ask about how to be polite to the Goblins.

“Teller Griphook,” Harry asked when they slowed to a stop outside of his vault and the door opened to show him the piles of money. “It has recently come to my attention that I have yet to receive the details for my vault.”

The Goblin sneered, but there was a distinct edge of curiosity to it. “As the last Potter, you should’ve been receiving monthly statements on your vaults since you turned eleven. Are you saying you haven’t?”

“Yes.” Eleven? _Eleven?_ That was four years of monthly statements missing. And what did he mean vault _s_?

Griphook frowned, and pulled a clipboard from deep in his pockets somewhere. Harry grabbed several handfuls of galleons while the goblin looked through something.

“It seems your magical guardian is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry thought he detected displeasure or something similar at the name but didn’t ask, “And he is also the Proxy for House Potter.”

“He’s _what_?”

“Your father, the late Lord Potter,” more disgust, “Named Dumbledore his Proxy. After a Lord dies, his Proxy remains until the Heir comes of age, the Heir changes the Proxy, or a Regent is named. As none of those things have happened, Dumbledore continues to hold the Potter seat as Proxy.”

“I can change my Proxy?”

“Once you reach fifteen, yes.” So he had to wait until this summer. With Dumbledore as his Proxy though… He would ask Draco what power a Proxy held over a seat when he got the chance. For now, he had to meet back up with his friends. But first-

“I don’t suppose you have a bag I could purchase for my coins?”

With a snap of his fingers, a dark red pouch appeared. “A moleskin pouch charmed to withdraw the desired amount directly from you vault. Only openable to you after you drop a single drop of blood on it. Also has Payment Slips, which function by writing the amount, who the money is to, and signing. The slip will disappear, and the money shall be moved from your vault. Ten galleons.” Harry made the purchase, added his blood, and joined Griphook for the ride back to the surface.

“Thank you for your help, Teller Griphook. While I don’t have time today, perhaps this summer I could come meet with my accountant to discuss this all more in-depth.”

Griphook looked suspicious, but Harry chose to just assume that was him misinterpreting Goblin expressions. “Of course, Heir Potter. Hookfang will be informed and await you this summer.” After giving a small bow, Harry excused himself and headed back to his group.

The rest of the day passed quickly, in a flurry of robes and colours and Tracy and Pansy arguing over the proper way for young wizards to dress. Daphne was entirely more composed and chose her robes with efficiency, compared to the other girls’ try-everything method. Though Harry noted that throughout the shopping process, Pansy and Blaise were always within eavesdropping distance of Narcissa and Lady Parkinson- who, at the end of the day, gave Harry permission to call her Delilah.

Harry ended up with a full wardrobe of various colours and styles, for both winter and summer, boots, and accessories (in the form of cloak pins, hats, etc.) as well as _three_ formal robes. Because one wasn’t enough, apparently. Despite the almost absurd amount of money he spent, Harry enjoyed his time and headed back to Malfoy Manor for dinner, followed by bed.

* * *

 

The next two days were a whirlwind of dodging the Malfoys subtle inquiries into his past, making his own subtle barbs towards Dumbledore to show he was less than pleased with him, and over all trying to make a good- and a _Slytherin_ \- impression on the Lord and Lady. Add in the preparations for the Ball, which consisted of Narcissa ordering the House Elves about and telling Draco and Harry to stay out of the way, and Draco drilling in all the information on their guests that Harry would need to know, plus meeting Draco insane family peacocks and his pet snake (a rather bossy thing that certainly needed to lay off the ice mice) and it passed quickly. Soon enough, the Ball- and Yule- was upon them.

* * *

 

**Sunday, December 18 th, 1994**

Minerva McGonagall swept past the gargoyle and into her mentor, friend, and employer’s office. Those were not the only titles he held to her- leader, general, _Lord_ \- but those were the first, and the most relevant at the moment.

“Minerva, my girl!” He beamed, his eyes twinkling in a way she knew meant he had a plan that he no doubt thought was perfect and would not be inclined to share. “I was wondering if you would fetch young Harry for me. I wish to speak to him.”

Oh, so it would be _that_ kind of scheme today. The ones where he thought he had all of the pieces only to be disappointed when he realized he’d overlooked something. Honestly, sometimes she wondered if he just expected the world to fold itself to his expectations.

“Mr. Potter,” and she stressed the word, because while Harry Potter needed to be guided, needed to understand what would be asked of him, giving him preferential treatment and singling him out would do no one any good. In fact, it would just widen the fissure already dividing their school. “Has left for Christmas Holidays. I expect him to return for the Yule Ball with many of his classmates.”

Indeed, Albus’s twinkle dimmed and he frowned. “He’s returned to Privet Drive?” He sounded so confused, so unhappy. Anger flashed through her, before quickly being shoved aside. The mistakes of the past remained in the past and there was nothing for her to do.

“I have no idea. But his name was not on the sign up sheet, and his trunk is no longer in Gryffindor Tower.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

Minerva buried a sigh beneath a veneer of professionalism. She loved Albus, she did. He did what he thought was best, but sometimes he became blind to the truth blocking his way to the Utopia he envisioned.

“Albus, honestly. I’ll remind you that _you_ are the one that removed the rule stating that students had to inform their Heads of Houses to their holiday plans after the war ended. If a student’s name is not on the sign up sheet, then as far as I’m concerned, they are no longer my ward.” He spoke as if Harry Potter had no friends. It did disappoint her that he had turned to Slytherins instead of her Lions, and she knew well that Severus was confused on how the split had occurred and why Harry had turned to _Draco Malfoy_. Still, Harry was his own person and she would not stop him from making his own choices.

She just hoped, for all their sakes, that his choices didn’t doom them.

* * *

 

**Wednesday, December 21 st, 1994**

In the end, Harry chose to wear the dark green robes edged in black that brought out his eyes. Like most formal robes, it was closed from neck to feet, though this one was unique in that it was from a newer fashion trend that involved two short slits on the side to allow for more movements and made it flare. Because of the slits though, he wore black slacks underneath, with his dragon hide boots. The long sleeves were tight and the entire thing drew attention to Harry’s rather slim figure, something Pansy and Delilah both said was a good thing. At least because he’d been at Hogwarts for the past few months, he was skinny instead of skeletal.

Draco, when he came to fetch Harry, was wearing a deep blue robe with silver piping that matched his eyes and hair. Unlike Harry, he’d gone with the traditional style of loose long sleeves, and closed from neck to feet.

Somehow, Harry ended up joining the Malfoys while they greeted their guests. This, he figured, served two purposes. One, it allowed the Malfoys to show off that they had the Boy-Who-Lived as a house guest, and two, it allowed Harry to meet everyone right away. Thanks to Draco, he recognized all the names, but it was still nice to place faces to them.

After everyone, including the Greengrasses, Parkinsons, and Zabinis (Zia Zabini was a force of her own) not to mention a slue of Ministry officials including the Head of DMLE, Amelia Bones, and her niece, Susan Bones, and Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, had arrived, Harry and the Malfoys finally joined everyone in the ball room.

Everything had been decorated with natural leaves and flowers, including pine garlands, holy and ivy branches, and bright candles which accompanied the grand fireplace against the far wall. It all shined, and a small band played on a harp, piano, and violin in the corner.

“Well,” Draco murmured as he walked besides Harry, “Time to impress wizarding society.”

They started by greeting the girls, plus Blaise, and their families. When Countessa Zabini began asking questions on Draco father, Harry excused himself by asking Daphne to dance. Delighted, and with a predatory glint in her eyes, she said yes.

“So,” he began, when he had found his footing and was comfortable dancing and talking at the same time. “I see my name must be good enough for you to be seen in public with me.”

“Now, Harry. What ever would make you think that I would only be seen in public with you only if your name wasn’t being dragged through hippogriff dung?”

“I know you,” he deadpanned, causing her to laugh.

“You told me Lord Greengrass,” he began, leading her into the next set of steps without a stumble, something he was proud of, “Owned several shipping companies. But you never mentioned what your mother did.”

“She’s a barrister. Owns and Heads her own company with her younger brother.”

“Really? So if I needed help with some law matters, she could help?” Daphne’s eyes sharpened, but he didn’t dare seem more than curious. The truth of the matter was, he wanted Sirius freed. He wanted to be able to openly acknowledge his love for his father (even if the world would have to believe he was only his godfather) but for that to happen his name had to be cleared. It would take time, and a lot of maneuvering, but Harry thought he could manage it.

“Oh? And what legal trouble is the Boy-Who-Lived in this time?”

He forced himself to laugh at her sarcasm, but both knew they were far more interested in this topic than they let on. “Oh, nothing yet. Just thought I should be prepared for the next time someone tries to enter me into a magically binding tournament or tries to kill me.”

* * *

 

After dancing with Daphne, Harry danced with the other two girls and managed to avoid making any horrible mistakes or embarrassing himself beyond belief. What he’d failed to consider, is that after so publicly dancing, it’d be easier for others to hunt him down when they wanted to speak to him.

“Well met, Minister Fudge,” Harry greeted pleasantly when the other man just appeared at his side.

“Well met, Heir Potter.”

“Please sir, after helping me in my third year, surely you can call me Harry.”

The Minister, predictable, beamed.

“Of course, Harry. Nasty business, that was. So sorry we haven’t caught Black yet.”

Well, if an opportunity presented itself. “I’ve been thinking, Minister, perhaps the public needs to know more about Sirius Black and what happened thirteen years ago.”

“Oh?”

“Well, to everyone, the horrible war with You-Know-Who is something to put behind us. People don’t like to hold onto painful memories.” Harry paused and swallowed, as if he to was being reminded of the horrors. Fudge looked sympathetic. “Sorry, it’s hard- sometimes.”

“Of course, my boy.” Harry nearly sneered at the familiarity, but moved on.

“But, well, because of that, most don’t think about Black much or what he did. Perhaps you should remind them. I’m sure the _Daily Prophet_ would be more than happy to help as well.”

“Yes,” Fudge seemed to consider it, before repeating himself. “Yes, I think that could work. Perhaps a piece on the betrayal?”

“Perhaps even releasing his trial transcript.” This was a gamble, but it might well be worth it. “I was looking through some backlogs of the _Prophet_ ,” Harry looked a little sheepish, “Uh, during my third year I was curious on what I was facing. Anyway, I never saw the trial transcript anywhere, so that could certainly help remind the public of Black’s crimes and to keep a lookout for him.”

“Yes, I think so.” Fudge smiled again. “Thank you, Harry. You are a brave boy to want to drag all this to the light again just to get justice. Reminds me of myself a little.”

“Thank you Minister,” Harry forced himself to beam. He caught site of another person he wanted to speak to and hurried to finish this. “It means a lot to me. You always do what is right, rather than what is easy, and I think that makes you a wonderful Minister.” Even if he was horribly manipulatable.

“Why, thank you Harry.”

Harry managed to excuse himself and wound his way through the crowd until he came across two that he wanted to speak to.

“Well met, Madam Bones. Heiress Bones.”

“Well met, Heir Potter.” They turned and greeted Harry. Susan was a Hufflepuff in his year, so he knew her, but Madam Bones, the Lady Regent of Bones and Susan’s aunt according to Draco, was a new face. She was tall, and rather plain with straw colored hair and brown eyes, but had a fierce air about her. Harry was actually surprised to see the Head of DMLE at the Malfoy Yule Ball, before he remembered that the Bones were traditionally neutral politically and as the Head of DMLE, Madam Bones would want to see inside Malfoy Manor. Not that the Malfoys would ever be stupid enough to leave something illegal in plain sight, mind you.

“This may seem a tad forward,” Harry frowned and shifted so it’d be obvious that he was uncomfortable. “But I had a favor I wanted to ask you, Madam Bones.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” She seemed amused, but hadn’t quite hit condescending yet.

“I- well, after last year I find myself in the peculiar position of knowing that my godfather betrayed my parents and being convicted for it, but not really knowing _how_ it happened. Could you… well, I was wondering if it’d be possible for you to give me a copy of the trial transcript.” Harry looked at his feet, “I, uh, just want to know how he found justice.”

When he looked up, he found Madam Bones smiling at him, looking sympathetic and sad. He knew that she’d gone to school during the same time as his parents, even if she was a few years older. Looks like his gamble of her liking them had paid off.

“I’ll see if I can’t owl you a copy, Heir Potter. The ten year limit on keeping it sealed is over, so it should be public knowledge.”

“Thank you, Madam Bones. It means a lot.”

* * *

 

With two avenues of discovering a missing transcript in place, Harry returned to the Ball. He ended up dancing with Susan, who had asked him about his lack of acknowledgement on the Abbott Lithia Feast. After explaining that he had never received any invitations and suspected someone of tampering with his mail, though he left out Dumbledore’s name, she was much more understanding and said she hoped he got it fixed soon. Besides that, he had spoken to Lord Greengrass and expressed his apologies that he had never made it to their Lughnasadh Festival. He thought that Lord Greengrass, a man who looked gruff but was clever and kind, liked him well enough. He was confused on where Daphne got her iciness until he met Lady Greengrass, a woman who was essentially an older Daphne. Astoria Greengrass, Daphne’s younger sister, took after their father in personality and was kind and bubbly in a way more inclined with Hufflepuffs then Slytherins.

By the time dinner was served, Harry had made acquaintance with everyone, though his time with the Crabbes and Goyles was short-lived. Dinner itself was a seven course meal filled with a speech on the importance of family and friends- the thing Yule stood for- from Lord Malfoy, and lots of dinner conversation. Senator Davis, Tracy’s father, was delighted at the prospect of his daughter going to the Hogwarts dance with Harry. At Tracy’s pleading look, Harry didn’t inform him that it was only as friends. Afterwards, everyone departed with goodbyes and, from Hogwarts students, see-you-soons.

Before Harry could trudge up to bed, however, Lord Malfoy’s voice stopped him. “Heir Potter.” It was a tad formal, considering Harry had been living in his house, but Harry thought that Lucius Malfoy was the kind of man who kept a distance unless necessary.

“Yes, Lord Malfoy?” All three of the Malfoys stood at the end of the ball room, besides a door that Harry hadn’t noticed before. Draco was smirking smugly, and Narcissa seemed to be calmly waiting for her husband to continue. Lord Malfoy himself was watching Harry closely, and Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

“Would you care to join us for the Yule Rites?”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Yule was the Sabbat that valued family and togetherness, but also planning for the future and welcoming the new seasons. It was the longest night of the year, when the Dark was strongest, but also the time that the Dark transitioned to the Light. Usually celebrated within families, so for Lord Malfoy to invite Harry to join, not to mention the fact that the ceremony was illegal…

“I would be honored to, Lord Malfoy.” Harry followed them out of the side door, which led to a stone path. Snow was piled to the side, but the path itself was dry and clear. They headed down into a forest filled with pine and, what Harry guessed to be, ash trees. It was a new moon tonight, so only the stars guided them, but it seemed as if the Malfoys knew exactly where they were going. Eventually, they came to a clearing with a small tent to one side and a circle of ancient stones in the center. Not even snow dared enter the cleared circle. Within the tent- which was larger on the inside- Harry found changing rooms, each of which had a bathtub of warm water, and a clean, thick robe of white cotton.

After cleansing themselves and dressing in the white robes, the four headed out to the stone circle. Taking a single step in, Harry felt the wind vibrate and warm, energy and power dancing through the air. In the center, a smaller ring of stones sat with a thick log in the middle of it. There was no doubt that this was a magic circle.

Narcissa carried a bowl of water, which she sprinkled around the circled, murmuring softs words that made it all shine and sparkle. Purifying the area, probably. She followed the water with a smudge stick, and then salt.

Harry was placed to the South, while Draco and Lucius went to the East and West respectfully. The South for the Light, which Harry supposed most thought he was, and the Sun that was being rebirthed, which fit him more. East to represent the new age, the future that would dawn, and the West to signify to old, or the past. Narcissa gave each a candle, and murmured to Harry the line he would have to say, before taking her place at the North- to indicate the Dark at the height of its power, though it’d pass that to the Light.

When Narcissa nodded to him, Draco raised his candle and called out, “Powers of Air, step forth from the Dark. Enter this circle as Dark transitions to Light. Bring along with you the essence of pine, and remind us of the new life of Spring as We face this Solstice Night.” He lit the candle with his wand, and a warm breeze, smelling of pine and ash and new flowers filled the clearing.

Steeling his nerves, Harry lifted his own candle and called out, trying to imitate Draco’s strong but clear voice, “Powers of Fire, step forth from the Dark. Enter this circle as Dark transitions to Light. Bring along with you the first glint of the newborn Sun, and remind us of Summer warmth as We face this Solstice Night.” The candle lit easily, and the air warmed.

“Powers of Water, step forth from the Dark. Enter this circle as Dark transitions to Light. Bring along with you the sweet memories of the past, and remind us of Autumn streams as We face this Solstice Night.” The water that had been sprinkled over the grass glistened as Lord Malfoy lit his candle. Harry held his breath as he waited for Narcissa to finish out.

“Powers of Earth, step forth from the Dark. Enter this circle as Dark transitions to Light. Bring along with you the land that now slumbers, and remind us of Winter homes as We face this Solstice Night.” She lit her candle and the air buzzed, warm and filled with the scent of pine and earth. Unlike the others, however, Narcissa kept going. Her voice was light, sweet, but carried with it power.

“The Dark Crone watches over us, guides us with the wisdom and power of the years that weigh Her back. This is Her night, a night to celebrate the Great Goddess, of Magick and Earth. But the wheel turns on, and just as Our time of Power came, so must it end.

“The Sun set on this Darkest night, but it shall rise with new power. The Great God, of Sun and Sky, is reborn with strength and purpose.

“We thank the Great Goddess for watching over us, for giving us fortune and power. We thank the Great Goddess for keeping our family together, and for bringing new friends and allies to us.” Narcissa sent a look to Harry, but he was too busy caught up in the ceremony. He could feel the magic around him, feel the power in the air. He understood now, what Blaise had meant all those weeks ago. Magic was a gift, and he couldn’t believe something like this was illegal. It felt natural, felt perfect. _This_ is what people should be doing to celebrate.

“We pray the Great God shall bring new life, and shall keep the peace. We pray the Great God shall take mercy on us, and keep us from harm in Our coming time of weakness.

“On this Solstice Night, of Dark and Power, we thank the Great Goddess, Maiden-Mother-Crone of Magick and Earth, for holding us in Her esteem and giving us this great gift of Magick. On this Solstice Night, of Dark and Power, we welcome the Great God, Warrior-Father-Elder of Sun and Sky, and pray for His strength and mercy and for Him to give us His protection.” Narcissa stepped forward and lit the Yule log with a spell, and it _whooshed_ up, lighting quickly. She paused after returning to her place at the North, and they all stood absorbing the power around them. Harry could almost feel the way the Earth held its breath, sleeping and awaiting to be awoken. He could feel the way the magic coursed through his veins, the way it vibrated in time with his heartbeat. Magic was around them, and they were a part of it.

Eventually, Narcissa spoke again. “Blessings upon my House and Kin, blessings to my Friends and Allies. Carry sweet tidings and blessings to those who follow Our Lady and Our Lord. I charge thee as messengers, Powers of Earth, Powers of Water, Powers of Fire, and Powers of Air. Let all reflect on the past of Dark and the future of Light, on this Solstice Night. As I have spoken, so mote it be.” The power in the air collapsed, rushing through everyone as it dispersed in one fell swoop, taking out the flames of the candles as it did. Harry felt odd, light and insubstantial, like he should have something else weighing him down. Perhaps that was just the lack of magic filling the air.

Draco smiled brightly at him, and Harry couldn’t keep from smiling back as they all made their way, silent, back to the Manor, leaving the Yule log burning.

* * *

 

Upon entering, Narcissa called for the House Elves to bring tea and hot chocolate to the family parlor, where they all gathered to open gifts. Harry received a variety of things from his Slytherin friends, including books, broom care kit, candies, a wand holster for his arm and, from Draco, a pair of dragon leather boots with silencing charms on them. From Lord and Lady Malfoy, he also received a bound set of Ancient Rune books, one of which included the greatest accomplishments using Runes of the last century. In return, he’d given Tracy and Pansy bracelets charmed to heat up when poison was in their food, Daphne a set of muggle fantasy books- a callback to when they’d debated on how Magical fiction books sucked compared to muggle ones-, Blaise a muggle book on electricity and computers- another callback to Blaise not understanding how muggles could produce light- and Draco a set of books describing the best seekers of the world and their favorite moves, as well as how to practice said moves. For Narcissa, he’d ordered a box of fancy chocolates from France that Draco had informed him were her favorites, and gotten Lord Malfoy a pair of dragon hide gloves with his family crest etched on.

At dawn, they all headed out once more, this time to snuff out the Yule log, but left the sparks as it would remain smoldering for the next twelve days. They all stood around it and watched the sun rise.

Yule was officially over.

* * *

 

**Thursday, December 22 nd, 1994**

The next day, Harry caught Lord Malfoy on his way out of the breakfast room. “Lord Malfoy, I was wondering if you were free today.” His eyebrow rose imperiously.

“I have a dinner meeting with some colleagues, but before that I am available. What can I help you with, Heir Potter?”

“I wished to speak with you about a possible… business transaction. It’s a sensitive matter, however.” Intrigued, Lord Malfoy led Harry down the hall and to his study. It was a large room, lined with bookshelves and with a hulking desk of ash wood taking up the back wall. At Lord Malfoy’s behest, Harry sat.

“What transaction could I help you with?” Subtext: what could the Boy-Who-Lived want with a Death Eater?

Harry took a deep breath and ordered his mind. He’d waited until after Yule because it meant he’d have a better take on Lord Malfoy and have a chance to perhaps make a good impression. The downside was that Lord Malfoy also had a chance to take his measure. He’d gone over what he’d wanted to say a hundred times since he’d arrived, but much of this would have to be improvised. At least he had talent with that.

There was no going back after this. He was about to make a deal with Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater and Dark wizard. One of Voldemort’s inner circle. Harry found himself pausing, waiting for some self-preservation instinct to drive him out of this. All he felt was excitement, and the buildup of anticipation, like when he was about to dive for the snitch.

“I was speaking to Draco,” best remind Lord Malfoy of his close connection to his son, “And informed him I needed help selling a large quantity of hard to come by ingredients. He told me that Gringotts would be happy to play go-between for a price, but he also suggested that _you_ could help me. What with your… connections.”

* * *

 

Lord Lucius Annaeus Abraxas Malfoy, Duke of Malfoy, nearly laughed out loud. Harry Potter was trying to get his help to sell something no doubt illegal. Instead of doing something so uncouth, he called an Elf for tea, and spoke only to ask Potter for his preferences.

Long ago, he had believed, as many of his “colleagues” did, that Harry Potter was possibly a great Dark Lord in the making. What other creature could defeat their Lord? Following the brat’s first year, though, Lucius quickly discarded that belief. Add in what happened with the Chamber…

The essence of this all was that Lucius had placed Harry Potter firmly in the category of “Light Wizard, Dumbledore Zealot”. When Draconus had owled asking if he could invite Potter to their home for the holidays, he hadn’t believed it. When the Boy-Who-Lived had introduced himself perfectly, and impressed his wife, he hadn’t been able to comprehend it. And when that supposed Light fanatic had charmed all of his Ball guests and then joined them for Yule Rites without a single complaint, even added a gracious and entirely sincere “thank you” … Lucius had finally admitted to himself he might have jumped to conclusions.

And now Harry Potter was wanting to use his help to sell some nefarious product. Lucius wasn’t an idiot, could see what Potter was trying for. The Goblins would’ve more than happy to help Potter, and certainly wouldn’t have carried the risk that Lucius did. But Potter had chosen to go through him, to try to start a good relationship with him…

Well, Lucius could see the value in being business partners with the Boy-Who-Lived. Besides, this could be interesting.

“I have a great many deal of colleagues,” Lucius finally said. “You’d have to be more specific in what you wanted to sell.”

Potter took a sip of his tea as he considered the words. “Creature parts. A rather rare find.” Lucius’s first thought was poaching something endangered, but quickly discarded that. Potter was not a poacher. Which left the question on what creature could possibly be worth this trouble to Potter.

“I may have someone. Though we’d have to arrange a meeting, you would probably want to hide your identity…” he trailed off, letting Potter put together what he was saying.

Potter hummed idly, took another sip, and said, “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of asking your help for free. Ten percent of what your… _colleague_ buys the parts for.” A low price, no doubt. The creature was probably something like a unicorn that he found dead in the Forbidden Forest. Illegal to sell without permission, but not worth anything huge. Lucius would of course help, but there was no reason not to test the boy more.

“A rather insubstantial sum, wouldn’t you think?”

“That depends,” instead of sweating and worrying about negotiating, Potter smiled calmly. “What do you think ten percent of a thousand year old basilisk goes for?”

Lucius mind stumbled to a halt and he paused with his tea an inch from his lips. Cursing in his mind for the very obvious surprise, despite it being only for half a second, he sipped calmly as if this wasn’t astonishing. Where on earth would Potter get a-

The Chamber of Secrets. The boy had killed Slytherin’s Monster in his second year. But a _basilisk_. Their venom, scales, blood, and bones could all be used in potions, most of which hadn’t been made in centuries simply because of the rarity of basilisks. Regardless of public opinion, you could not hatch a basilisk using a chicken egg and toad. If one could, _everyone_ would be running around with giant killer creatures. It took an ashwinder snake swallowing a chicken egg, passing it undigested, and then incubating said egg under a specific magical toad for exactly one lunar cycle, new moon to new moon, to hatch a basilisk. Most never got past that first step, and the only other way for them to be born was for a basilisk to lay an egg which was then incubated for a century or longer. Not to mention, as one of the creatures on this earth that could truly live for eternity if they weren’t killed first, the older the basilisk the more valuable it became. For one that’s a thousand year old…

You could buy the Ministry with that kind of money.

“An impressive feat.” Lucius considered the boy in front of him. “Still, for something like that I would have to find a third party to give an accurate estimation of the worth. Twenty percent would be more substantial.”

“Fifteen is plenty, I think. And five percent to the estimator.” Lucius had no idea what to do with Potter. Most would’ve gone lower, and headed higher slowly, and when finally giving in on fifteen would’ve tacked on Lucius having to pay for the estimator. But offering to pay for the estimator himself- and adding on that he would pay on percentage- was a good move. A bold move, but good. It would mean the estimator would charge the highest amount possible. And just brazenly saying the creature was a basilisk…

Potter was nearly a Slytherin, but he had Gryffindor in him to. It was nothing like anything Lucius had ever dealt with, and he found himself enjoying himself.

“Agreed, Heir Potter. I’ll draw up a contract. I used to be a barrister, before my father passed.” They stood and shook hands. Before he let go, though, Potter said one thing.

“I’ll await the papers then. And please, sir. Call me Harry.”

Somewhere, Lucius’s father was rolling in his grave. For him to make a deal like this with the Boy-Who-Lived. Moreover, for him to be so familiar as to call him-

“Gladly, Harry.”

* * *

 

**Monday, December 26 th, 1994**

The rest of his stay at Malfoy Manor passed in a blur to Harry. He studied Ancient Runes, read and signed the papers Lord Malfoy presented him, and spoke with Draco about things they would need to do after they arrived at Hogwarts but before the dance.

The only thing of note was that on the 25th, he received two packages, each accompanied by a letter. He was a little miffed that Ronald and Granger hadn’t sent small gifts to the Malfoys, as it was considered horribly rude to sent someone a gift while they stayed as a guest without sending something to the host family as well. Then again, they probably didn’t know that he was staying with the Malfoys. Which just meant they had no business sending him anything.

He opened both in his room, accompanied by Draco. From Ronald, or rather, the Weasleys, was the Weasley sweater, a letter of apology from Ronald that sounded distinctly forced, a letter from Mrs. Weasley saying that she was sorry to hear Ronald had been such a twat (Harry’s words, not hers) and that they should try to get along, and a third letter, hidden under the sweater, from the twins. It was the only thing in there that made Harry smiled.

_Harry,_

_Ignore our idiotic family. We tried to tell them that if you didn’t want to be Ron’s friend, then to let it lie. Of course, then Ronikins went on a rant about how you’re a Dark wizard, and then mum flipped, and we told her she wasn’t really your mum… basically, there was a huge row about it. Don’t worry though, we still like you._

_We’re a little surprised about your choice in friends, admittedly. The Malfoys are Dark, but I don’t suppose we really have to tell you that. As for the rest of the snakes… well, we hope you’re doing alright and that the rumors about you being under the Imperious are exaggerated._

_We got you a small gift, feel free to use it on Ron. Though we do ask that you don’t hang him from the ceiling. We might fight, but he is still our brother, so we’d have to take revenge for something like that._

_Merry Christmas. Or Yule, if that’s what you’re celebrating now._

_Feorge and Gred Wesley_

_P.S. What spells did you use on McLaggen? He’s been a right twat for years, but now he’s all jumpy and quiet. Whatever you did, wish we had thought of it._

Attached was a small box that, when unshrunk, had a bunch of products from Zonko’s. Warmed, Harry made a note to send them a thank you and moved to the other package.

It was a set of muggle books from Hermione along with a long raving letter about how she was sorry but that he’d hurt her feelings and she just wanted things to be how they were, didn’t he miss her? Blah blah blah. Harry added her letter and everything besides the letter and box from the twins into a pile and watched Draco light it on fire.

* * *

 

The train ride passed quickly, filled with conversation on gifts and debates on who would go with who for the dance and Blaise asking Harry if he’d figured out the egg yet. Which would be a hard no, because Harry was stubbornly ignoring its existence at the moment. That night, Harry told Draco he couldn’t work on the Chamber and that they’d have to do it tomorrow because he had something he needed to take care of in Gryffindor Tower. Draco looked curious and slightly hurt that Harry wouldn’t say what, but let it go. Harry, after dinner, snuck out and went to the Shrieking Shack under the cover of darkness and his cloak.

* * *

 

“Harry!” Sirius slammed into him with a hug, and Harry returned it fiercely. “You’re alright. Malfoy didn’t hurt you or anything?”

“Sirius,” Harry forced a scowl, even if it did make him happy that someone was worrying over him. “I told you I’d be fine.”

“I remember Lucius Malfoy. I fought him.” Sirius looked over Harry one more time before seeming to accept he was okay. “Forget about that for now. Come, I have a gift for you.” Sirius had transfigured a couch, which they collapsed on. When Harry handed over Sirius’s gift, Sirius placed it on the side, said, “Kids first,” and handed over a soft cube wrapped in red and gold.

Harry unfolded the crinkling paper, still not fully use to gifts and wanting to savor them. Inside, he found a thick black blanket, soft and fuzzy to the touch. When he spread it out over his lap, he saw that it was clearly meant for a huge king bed, and had some sort of pattern on it. It took him a moment to spread it out enough to understand, but soon he saw it wasn’t a pattern but a crest.

“This is…”

“I had it made for you after I adopted you.” Sirius rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “It was meant to be a birthday present for when you turned seven and I officially gave you the Heir Black Ring. I would give you the Ring now, but to claim it I would have to claim the Lord Ring and that would alert the Ministry.”

“Thank you.” Harry ran a hand over the soft fabric. _House of Black_ was etched over the shield, though there was no sign of the words _Toujour Pur_. He wouldn’t be able to use it, not in the open anyway, but he this showed that he was a part of more than just the Potter family. He was a Black as well. “I love it.”

Looking closer, he found his full name written in one of the stars, only a shade darker than the rest of the star so it was hard to see. _Hadrian James Black_. There were other names in the stars too, _Arcturus Phellinus Licorus Black, Narcissa Walburga Black, Andromeda Dorea Black, Regulus Alphard Black, Sirius Arcturus Orion Black_. It reminded Harry that he wasn’t alone. That he had other family. Though it did also remind him of a question he’d had weeks ago and had forgotten to ask.

“Hey, will you tell me why my name is Hadrian? I always thought it was just Harry.”

Sirius looked confused for a moment, before he seemed to understand something. “Right, Petunia wouldn’t have known. It’s an old tradition, one that’s mostly fallen out of favor. Supposedly it came from when there was a branch of magic that required you to use the targets name in the casting. Really Dark and powerful stuff. It’s been lost for centuries, but you needed the _full_ name for it to work. So people gave names to their kids that could be easily shortened and presented them as the nickname. Only your immediate family would know your true name. It’s a very intimate thing to offer someone use of your full name. Like, your spouse or someone you considered family kind of intimate. Even after offering use, most would only use it when they were alone or with others that knew the name. It’s the only tradition that James kept with you. He said that if anyone could rediscover an ancient branch of magic that was burned out of our books and memories, it would be Voldemort. Few do it now a days, or they give several middle names instead of one long first name.”

“Like Dumbledore.”

“Yes.” Sirius frowned and shifted. “The way Dumbledore flaunts his names is considered an insult to the tradition. Or a taunt, a ‘you would never dare try to hurt me so why should I hide my names?’ kind of thing, depending on who you ask.”

Harry absorbed this quietly. So that would explain it. He wondered, idly, if Draco had a ‘true name’ then. Probably.

“Go ahead and open your gift,” Harry finally urged. Thinking could wait until he didn’t have Sirius with him.

Sirius tore into his gift, slowing only when he opened the box and could see inside. “Whoa.” It was a copy of the photo album Hagrid had given him, with pictures of Pettigrew edited out, and several pages of Harry during his Hogwarts years added in. Most of him were when he was playing Quidditch or with Ronald and Granger. He’d left those ones because, while he wasn’t particularly fond of them, they were still a part of his past and what made him who he was. In the last few pages, pictures of him with his Slytherin friends or at the Malfoy Yule Ball filled the pages. He’d only finished putting it together yesterday.

“Harry this is…” Sirius trailed his finger over the wedding picture of James and Lily. In the background, Sirius smiled brightly at his friends. He flipped through, pausing when he found a picture that he recognized or knew the moment of. Near the end, he spent longer inspecting the pictures of Harry and his friends, or his Quidditch moments.

“I know Dementors burry the good memories underneath bad ones,” Harry said quietly. “I just wanted to remind you of the good.”

Sirius set the book aside, pulling Harry into a fierce hug. “Thank you, Harry. It means more than you can know,” he murmured against Harry’s hair, voice thick and rough. Sinking into the warmth, Harry let Sirius pull them onto the couch, so they were laying together, the blanket covering them. Tears pricked Harry’s eyes and he knew this is what his parents would’ve wanted for him. Safety and warmth and love.

“Hey dad?” he whispered into Sirius’s chest. He knew he was heard when Sirius went stiff, then held him even tighter against him.

“Yes?”

“Will you call me Hadrian?”

“Of course, son.”

They layed there, wrapped in the Black family blanket with a picture book of memories sitting next to them. For long into the night, they just enjoyed each other’s company and the fact that, while they’d lost people before, they still had family.

* * *

 

**Tuesday, December 27 th, 1994**

Harry hid the blanket deep in his trunk, in the same secret compartment he kept the cloak when he wasn’t using it. After getting a few rough hours of sleep- most of which was while he was with Sirius- he spent the day deep under the school adding finishing touches to the Chamber of Secrets.

“Hey, Harry.” Draco stood underneath the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin, walking around it slowly. “I swear there are steps carved into his beard. Does this open at all?”

“Uh yeah. It opens into the lair where the basilisk was.”

“Oh. Is there something in there?” Harry frowned and stepped closer. He could see what Draco meant, as hidden within the beard there were steps that, while precarious, seemed solid.

“Step back.” After Draco obeyed, he concentrated on snakes, and called forth the memory on what Tom Riddle had used to summon the basilisk. “ _Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of Hogwarts Four_.” The mouth ground open, and Harry and Draco clambered into it.

Using Lumos to light their way, they used a liberal amount of the vanishing charm to get rid of the bones of small animals littering the ground and a lot of cleaning charms to remove the dust. The throat turned into an incline, shallow enough that they could walk down it like a ramp. At the bottom, they sent another floating ball of Lumos into the air so they could look around more.

A huge cavern, nearly as long as the Chamber itself, surrounded them. Of course, something like the basilisk would need a space this large to live in. Walking the walls, though, Harry saw three separate carvings of snakes, each having two serpents intertwined, and the size of Hagrid.

On a whim, Harry murmured to one, “ _Open_.” At the command, the two snakes separated into two vertical lines. As they moved sideways, the wall opened up. Behind him, Harry heard Draco catch his breath.

“Merlin.” In front of them was a library, about half the size of the public school library. While everything was covered in dust, including the tables and chairs, it was clear the books themselves were covered in preservation charms as they weren’t falling apart. Stepping closer, Harry noticed they were all written in the same cursive English that he was coming to recognize as Parselscript.

“Oh come on,” Draco whined. “An ancient library, no doubt full of information that’s been banned for centuries, and it’s all written in a language I can’t even learn?”

Snorting, Harry scanned the titles. Most didn’t have anything on their spines, so he had to pull them out to read their front. “Complain to your House’s founder, not me.”

 _Year 993, Year 994, Year 995_. “Draco, I think these are Salazar Slytherins journals.”

“What?! All copies of any records kept by the founders have been lost since the 17th century. It’s a miracle we know as much as we do about the founding of Hogwarts and the Wise Men’s Council.”

Looking over a few of the other shelves, Harry noticed that others had books on potions, curses, blood magic, so on. He couldn’t make sense of most of what he saw, though he had no doubt that a lot of it was illegal in modern Britain.

They left the library and tried the other two snake carvings. One opened into what was clearly a sitting room, filled with old chairs, a low table, and a few desks. Off to one side, however, there was a proper dinning table, large enough to seat eight. The last doorway wouldn’t open for Harry, no matter what command he gave it. He noticed, though, that there was something carved beside the snakes. A long list of names and dates.

It took a while, because the older names were so old that the etching was filled with dust and literally invisible, but after cleaning the walls with magic, Harry saw the list of names for what it was. Heirs of Salazar Slytherin and the years they opened the Chamber and claimed the title. It went all the way back to Slytherin himself, with the date _November 1 st, 1000_ carved alongside his name. That must have been when the Chamber was first created. The last name was _Tom Riddle- October 31 st, 1942_. Looked like the Chamber didn’t count Harry’s second year.

After explaining what the words meant, Draco stared with awe at the scrawl of names that took up nearly the entire wall. “Whoa. You probably can’t get in because you aren’t Slytherin’s true Heir.”

“Yeah.” Shaking his head, Harry cast a Tempus and cursed. “Come on, we still have to get ready for the dance. Tell Tracy I’ll meet her at the opening to your Common Room.”

* * *

 

After combing his hair back for the first time ever (all thanks to Daphne’s gift of Sleakeasy that accompanied the books she’d sent), and getting dressed in robes very similar to the ones he’d used at the Malfoy Ball, though these ones were black with red details, Harry headed down to where he knew the Slytherin Common Room was. He passed several older Slytherins on his way, each of which gave him a shallow nod in greeting. Huh, perhaps the whole business with McLaggen had earned him some points when it came to the older years.

Tracy, when she exited with Draco, Pansy, Daphne and Daphne’s date, Aiden Avery following behind, was wearing a black dress robe, which seemed to tie in the front using red ribbons on her shoulder and curving down her side, causing the fabric to layer. It was tight in the chest and arms, but loose and flowing in the skirt. Honestly, Harry didn’t know anything about fashion, but he did know she looked great.

He managed a sweeping bow and a compliment as he offered his arm before they took off. Avery didn’t seem like much, clever and quiet but more eye candy with his broad shoulders and symmetrical face. When they all reached the Great Hall, Harry and Tracy stayed back where Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang hung around. They made stilted conversation until Fleur Delacour arrived with Roger Davies and Victor Krum followed with _Hermione Granger_.

Harry didn’t mind Delacour or Krum much. Delacour used her looks to get what she wanted but was also wickedly smart and talented. Beauxbatons actually seemed kind of cutthroat, what with the way all of the conversations he heard involving veiled insults. Like Slytherin dressed in blue robes and surrounded by French stereotypes. Krum meanwhile was straight forward and determined, but never rude. He also didn’t flaunt his fame, which Harry liked. They’d talked a few times at the Slytherin table, but Krum always seemed to hold back because of Harry being competition. To find Hermione with him was surprising, however.

He managed to avoid speaking to her throughout dinner by sitting between Tracy and Delacour. At least he avoided Dumbledore as well, who seemed to be rather obsessed with watching him. Opening the dancing was easy, and he enjoyed the night. They met up with Blaise, who had Zacharias Smith on his arm, after the first set of dances. Pansy kept an eye on Harry, but he forced himself to ignore the reminder of their conversation and what it could mean for him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Smith was saying, looking at Daphne like she was dim. “If you used three layers, the ward wouldn’t be stable. You’d be as likely to blow up yourself as keep out intruders. You would require more Rune circles to ensure the ward had a stable foundation.”

“Not all Runes are for wards, Smith. Did the hamster running your brain take a nap? Three has magical significance same as seven, so it would work for divination spells or something of the sort. Look at the mythology surrounding it. Three furies, three fates, three-”

“Speak of mythology all you want, Greengrass. But unless you plan on going _muggle_ then it has nothing to do with real magic.”

“The muggles got their mythology from us and them misinterpreting what remained of our influence after the Statute of Secrecy. If you don’t want to look at the number three in mythology, look at the number in our own world. The three ranks within the Wizangamot.”

“Coincidence.” Harry snorted softly, and Smith turned to him. “Issue, Potter?”

“No, not at all. You just seem more Slytherin than Hufflepuff.”

“My family is descended from Helga Hufflepuff. Of course I’m in her House, like my parents.”

“Family has nothing to do with sorting, Smith. Besides, even being placed in a specific House doesn’t mean much when you can convince the Hat to place you elsewhere than where it wants.”

Smith considered him for a moment, before saying, “Hufflepuff values honesty, hard work, and loyalty. I’ll work as hard as it takes to get what I want, and I’d rather be honest and loyal to myself, than fake and aggressively nice like many of my housemates.” He glanced over to Diggory then, and Harry noted the reaction. He thought he could get to like Smith.

Besides aggressive debates on various topics, dancing with all of the girls, avoiding Granger and a miserable looking Ronald, the dance didn’t offer much. Leaving it, however, did.

Zacharias Smith left them to head to his own Common Room, and Harry started leading his friends towards the dungeons and the secret pathway beyond.

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” Before anyone could move or dodge, Harry’s limbs locked. He teetered dangerously for a second, before someone cast the counter curse. In a second, he was spinning around, wand snapping down from his sleeve and into his hand. His first instinct was to cast a curse which temporarily blinded a person, but it was Dark and illegal, and he managed to switch to a stinging hex at the last second.

McLaggen stepped back with a flinch when the spell hit him, and it was enough for Harry to send a freezing hex followed by an excrement jinx that would make him soil himself. The other two with him, Brian Cinderford, and Cindey Crockett, were both on the ground and wandless by the time Harry could take in the scene. Around him, all his friends had their wands drawn and lips pulled back.

“Evidently,” Draco drawled, calm voice at odds with the rage in his eyes, “We weren’t clear enough the last time.” Tracy took a few seconds to scan all of them. Blaise had received a cut on his cheek and Pansy’s hair was growing rapidly and in all directions. It took only a few seconds for Tracy to fix them both.

Draco took a step forward, but Harry laid a hand on his shoulder.

“They’re not worth it.” Before Draco could argue with him, which he no doubt would, a strange sound filtered into the hall. Quickly, Harry figured it was humming and turned to find a blonde girl that he vaguely recognized as a third year coming towards them.

“Luna?” Draco asked.

“Hello Cousin. Oh.” She looked at the three upper years, still laying on the floor and unmoving. McLaggen was awake but frozen while the other two seemed to be unconscious. “More trouble? I’m afraid their nargles are quite fat and won’t be sleeping any time soon.” She turned her back on the Gryffindors and faced Harry. She wasn’t dressed up, so she hadn’t come from the ball.

“Hello, Harry. Can I call you Harry? You can of course call me Luna.”

“Uh, sure. Hi, Luna.”

“I just wanted to let you know that sometimes story time can really make it easier to sleep. Oh! And that sometimes you have to pick a side. Like which half of the cake has more frosting.” She smiled brightly and turned to Draco, leaving Harry utterly confused.

“I hope you and Uncle Lucy are doing alright?”

“We are. I was sorry to hear you couldn’t come to the Yule Ball.”

“Yes, well. Daddy is off working, so I’m stuck here. Don’t worry though, I think I found my own Chamber.” Draco’s eyes bugged out and he choked.

“What?”

Completely ignoring the indication of the Chamber of Secrets, she continued, “I would like to spend more time with you. Perhaps I’ll hunt you down and help Harry finish that egg. Well, you have secrets to share, so I’ll be going.”

She walked off, as quickly as she’d come.

“What just happened?” Tracy wondered.

“That would be my cousin, Luna Lovegood.” Draco shot a look at the three downed Gryffindors and turned them all around, dragging their group back towards the hallway that held the secret passageway. When they’d gotten far enough away from anyone, Draco murmured quietly, “Don’t tell anyone, but she’s a Seer.”

“Like Trelawney?” Harry asked.

“What? No. That woman’s a fraud. Luna’s the real deal. Except she doesn’t usually get prophecies, just… knowledge. Feelings. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s been going on since we were little.”

“So that explains her being crazy,” Blaise said, “But did she seriously call your dad _‘Lucy’_?”

Snorting, Draco nodded. “Yeah. But her mother was my father’s younger sister. The first Malfoy witch born in generations. Father has a soft spot for her, so she can get away with a lot. Including having a crazy man as a dad.” He shot a look at Harry. “Whatever she meant by her words, you should take into account that they’re probably important. Most things she says are.”

Harry would’ve commented, but they’d finally reached the wall that led to the Chamber. Harry and Draco stopped, and everyone followed their lead.

“What I am about to show you does not leave this group. Any time you want access, you make sure you are alone before entering. I don’t trust anyone but you guys with this.”

“Nice dramatic speech,” Blaise smiled, though his eyes kept flicking around them. “Now where’s the dramatic surprise?”

Harry hissed a command in Parseltongue for open, the one way around the set password, and watched as all of their eyes widened.

“Is this…?” Pansy trailed off, too busy staring wide eyed into the dark tunnel. Summoning a Lumos, Harry led the way.

They’d cleared off the dust and cobwebs, so the tunnel was only dark instead of dirty. The stone walls and steps were smooth, and Harry had no doubt this was enchanted because they arrived into the Chamber far quicker than physics should’ve allowed. Harry had left the sink tunnel collapsed, blocking off even the small hole he’d made to escape the first time. He didn’t want anyone using that entrance anymore.

He stepped forward and offered another Parseltongue command. As the round, snake carved door swung open, he turned to his gapping friends.

“Welcome, to the Chamber of Secrets.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revenge- I had fun with that. I'll leave the full details to your imagination  
> Comparison of what the snakes have done for harry vs hermione and ron; harry's biased. That's basically the long and short of it. Harry just lost Hermione and Ron because of what he saw as a betrayal, so the Slytherins doing so much for him is really at the forefront of his mind and makes him see them as better friends. Whether they are or not, you'll have to decide.


	12. Aveux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE. Kinda. I'm a poor college student so expect slow updates. But for now, here's this... something. I'm not really happy with this, but I want to give you guys something. I have about a hundred words written for the next chapter, so don't expect that any time soon. I have to get to class, so FF and Tumblr won't be updated till the end of the day, but have this now because I get the most comments here and I need some motivation.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Pansy breathed, and Harry tried not to feel smug about making his usually very composed friends’ gape. Draco didn’t even bother trying to hide his smirk. “This is…”

“Amazing,” Blaise finished. He ran a hand over the stone snakes marking the path. They glistened black, now that Draco and Harry had gotten all of the slime off of them.

“How-” Tracy shook her head, and Harry was a little worried to see Daphne completely speechless. That had to be dangerous. “How did you _find_ this place?”

“Well, the original entrance that I found was in the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. Draco and I did some exploring though, and found a few other, less ridiculous entrances.”

“The girls’ bathroom?” Pansy asked. Harry led them all further down the room, until they were standing next to the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin’s face. “What made you look there?”

“Moaning Myrtle was killed when Voldemort opened the Chamber during his fifth year.” They all stared at Harry for a moment, finally dragging their eyes away from the Chamber around them.

“And how,” Blaise finally drawled, eyebrow raised, “Did you come to that conclusion?”

“Uh,” Harry ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the messy strands. He’d been doing good about using Sleakeasy to keep it under control, but at the moment he didn’t particularly care what he looked like. “My second year was a little eventful?” he finally said lamely.

Daphne looked supremely unimpressed. “And what year with you around _isn’t_?” He cringed back. He really, _really_ , didn’t want to explain second year. Didn’t want to relive the memories. The hot breath of the basilisk, the sound of scales sliding through water and against stone. The hiss of Tom Riddle’s Parseltongue.

“Third year wasn’t too bad.”

“Sirius Black escaped Azkaban and broke into Hogwarts _twice_ , and you say that ‘wasn’t too bad’.” Tracy looked at Harry like his brain was damaged.  “What are you comparing it to?” A teacher possessed by Voldemort. A basilisk. This horrible Tournament and the dreams he was coming to think were real and a sign of something a lot worse coming. His father escaping prison and coming to protect him was really not that big of a deal. Of course, they didn’t know that Sirius Black was innocent.

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable with all the attention. “It doesn’t really matter.” Blaise pursed his lips, and it wasn’t lost on Harry how the girls all shared a displeased look. It was Draco that spoke up though.

“I don’t believe that.” Harry felt his shoulders tense, and he shot a look at Draco. “Look, I was all for letting you keep your secrets before, but after helping you butcher that basilisk-”

“So there was actually a _basilisk_?” Pansy asked.

“I think we deserve some answers.”

Something bubbled up in Harry. Anxiety or anger, he didn’t know, only that if he explained a part of it, he would have to explain _all_ of it. That if he started talking, he didn’t know if he would stop. Harry didn’t _like_ lying to his friends, but what could they do? Dumbledore was his guardian so long as Sirius was wanted, which meant that he would stay with the Dursleys. And Granger had often brushed off his hatred of them, convinced that if the Headmaster thought they were good guardians, then Harry must be exaggerating. Ronald had listened, but hadn’t really done anything. How would this be any different?

Focusing on his anger at being pushed, at Draco trying to force the issue, he let a sneer descend over his features, letting fury and frustration win out over the sickening twist in his stomach and voice in his head that told him to just tell them.

“You don’t get to decide what I do and do not tell you.”

Draco’s nostrils flared, and he matched Harry sneer for sneer. “And if any of it comes back to bite us in the arse? If our ignorance puts us at risk just because you don’t want to relive a few unpleasant memories?”

Harry reared back, as if hit. “ _You have no idea what-_ ”

“I don’t,” Draco interrupted hotly, “Because you won’t bloody tell us!”

Silence descended over the cavern, and Harry didn’t even have to look to know that the others agreed with Draco. _They deserve to know the truth about me_ , Harry thought sullenly. The truth on how damaged he really was. On the nightmares that kept him up at night. But that involved opening up, sharing in a way that did not come naturally to him.

“Don’t you trust us?” Draco finally asked quietly, deflating as his anger left him.

“Of course!” Harry shot back. If nothing else, they had proved that. Their fierce protectiveness when he had been threatened, standing up for him earlier at the fight, teaching him everything he needed to know.

Daphne telling him he could be better, _forcing_ him to be better. Blaise telling him that magic was not something to be ashamed of, that it was a gift. Tracy sending the counter curse to the Body Bind immediately, and agreeing to go to the ball with him despite knowing that he wasn’t interested romantically. Pansy telling him it was alright to be the way he was, promising to see him again because _they didn’t care_.

Draco offering him lessons even before they were actually friends. Offering his forearm and telling him to be careful in the most roundabout, Malfoy way possible.

In two months they had collectively done more for Harry than Ronald and Granger in the past three years.

“Then why won’t you tell us?” Pansy asked quietly, and she sounded so quiet, so vulnerable and hurt, that something in Harry reared up and snapped out the first thing that came to mind, anything to make sure Pansy didn’t sound like that.

“Because remembering being locked in a cupboard is about as pleasant as reliving nearly dying by a basilisk bite.” Too late he realized what he’d said. Cringing, he turned from them, instead focusing on the statue of Slytherin as absolutely silence descended. There was a tense moment where no one spoke, and no one moved.

“What?” Blaise finally asked, voice flat and carefully controlled in a way Harry had never heard before. A quick look was all it took to see the raging fury in his eyes, offset by the blankness of his face. The others look similar.

 _Damn it, damn it,_ damn it. He just had to open his mouth. With a sharp sigh, he turned on his heel and opened the basilisk lair. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with half answers anymore. Not after that declaration. But they were all still in their dress robes, and there was no reason to sit on the floor.

Harry led the way to the lounge that he and Draco had discovered earlier in the evening. Clearing the giant meeting table of dust and cobwebs took only a few cleaning spells with more power than strictly necessary behind them. The Slytherins all found seats and watched him expectantly.

Pacing back and forth at the head of the table, Harry wondered how he started. How do you tell five Slytherins, classmates you had thought enemies up to two months ago, that you’d been abused by your guardians? That you had been worked like a slave? How did he explain that his entire magical education had been spent avoiding death yearly?

He collapsed into the chair, feeling whatever energy that had been a part of him flee. Might as well get this over with.

“When I’m around dementors, I relive my mother dying.” There was a sharp intake of breath, and Harry could see the devastation on Draco’s face. That’s right, he had made fun of Harry for having such a bad reaction. To be honest, Harry had forgotten about that entire thing. He waved off Draco’s guilt, and decided to stare up at the ceiling. This would be easier if he couldn’t see his friend’s faces, he decided. “That moment, when she died, is really when this all started.

“During my third year, I learned what happened after I vanquished Voldemort. Sirius Black was the first one to find me, but before he could carry me to safety, Hagrid showed up. He was under orders from Dumbledore to take me to my aunt and uncle. Sirius, thinking that they were trying to hide me until they could learn what happened, handed me over and went to hunt down Peter Pettigrew. He was later arrested and thrown into Azkaban.” He could practically feel their confusion, but continued on. If he lingered too much on any of this, he didn’t think he could keep it together.

“My Aunt Petunia is my mother’s older sister and she married a muggle man by the name of Vernon Dursley. They have one son, Dudley.” He swallowed, once, twice. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to relive it.

( _“You’ll be making breakfast every day from now on, you hear?”_ )

( _“How dare you hurt our precious Dudley?! Get in the cupboard! They’ll be no food for you.”_ )

“Petunia hates magic, and resents the fact that my mother was a witch. She calls it _freakishness_ , and her husband and son share the opinion. She hates me because I’m Lily’s son.”

( _“Stop your complaining.”_

_“B-but Aunt Tuny, it hurts!”_

_“No one cares if you’re hurt, freak. And I told you not to call me that!”_ )

He just had to push past, explain it to them in as few words as possible. “They didn’t want me to ‘contaminate their precious _Dudders’_ ,” he couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice, but quickly suppressed it. No lingering on the emotions behind this tale. “So they put a cot with a scratchy blanket in the cupboard under the stairs and had me sleep there. From the age of four, I was cleaning the house. Scrubbing the floors, cleaning the kitchen, doing the laundry, etcetera. I started cooking breakfast at five, and the rest of the meals at six. Yard work and gardening came around the same time. All to ‘earn my keep’.”

( _“You burned dinner!” The snap of the broom cracking across his back._ )

( _“How dare you talk back to me, you ungrateful_ freak _!” Spittle flew, and Harry curled into a ball to protect his face when the first hit came._ )

“If I didn’t finish the list of chores they gave me, I wouldn’t eat. Talking back, doing better in school than Dudley, would mean being locked in my cupboard for sometimes days at a time. Anything _freakish_ would be met with worse corporal punishments. I actually thought that was my name up until I was six and started school- Freak, that is.

“Dudley ended up running a gang of bullies that loved to play what they called Harry Hunting. Once, when I was running from them, I somehow ended up on the roof of my school. Another time, he broke my arm, but it healed over night so Petunia just thought I was faking it and I ended up not eating for three days.”

He shuttered out a breath, and wondered briefly if all his friends had died, it was so quiet. A quick glance revealed they were all still there, Tracy and Pansy both openly crying, and Blaise looked like he was about to snap the arms of his chair, he was gripping them so hard. Daphne’s eyes glistened and Draco had a look of pure horror marring his aristocratic features. Harry returned his eyes to the ceiling.

“When I got a letter, much less addressed to my room under the stairs, it was amazing. It actually freaked Petunia out so much that she convinced Vernon to move me to the spare room that Dudley used for storage. It was cramped and still filled with broken toys, but it had a bed and a window. A bunch more letters ended up coming and Vernon dragged us all over the place to escape them.

“Finally, on my birthday, Hagrid showed up. He busted down the door and ended up giving Dudley a pig’s tail before he took me shopping in Diagon Alley. He’s the one that told me about the War with Voldemort, about the Houses, and who my parents were. He’s also the one that told me about Dumbledore.” The message there was clear: that’s where my beliefs came from, for the longest time.

“During my first year, I met Ronald and Granger. They were the first people to actually be friends with me, so I sorta held onto them tightly. We discovered that Dumbledore was hiding the Philosopher’s Stone here at Hogwarts. We thought Snape was after it, actually, so when Dumbledore left the school, we went after it to protect it. There was a gauntlet of traps that we managed to pass through but at the end, it wasn’t Dumbledore waiting for us, it was Professor Quirrell. He was possessed by the spirit of Voldemort.” Gasps filled the air, and Harry didn’t think they were really breathing.

( _The turban unwrapped slowly, and Harry’s breath caught when he saw red eyes and a flat, pale face in the Mirror. Horror filled him when he realized who, exactly, he was looking at._ )

“I got the Stone, we ended up fighting and…”

( _Hands burning, Harry didn’t stop. He couldn’t, not if it meant Voldemort winning. This was the man that had killed his parents. This was the man responsible for leaving him with the Dursleys._

 _The air was rancid with the smell of burning flesh, and Harry could hear screaming even as his vision went dark. Something disintegrated beneath his palms._ )

He cleared his throat, banishing thoughts of burning skin and rank scents.

“Quirrell ended up dead and Voldemort’s spirit banished.” He paused, before admitting, “While I still don’t fully understand how it happened, I do know that Quirrell died because of me.”

Before anyone could comment, he moved on. “When I got back to the Dursleys, they seemed to hate me even more. But the worse came when, after a few weeks of absolutely no contact with anyone, a House Elf appeared on my bed. Dobby was convinced I was in danger at Hogwarts but wouldn’t tell me how or why. So instead, he sabotaged a business dinner Vernon was having. I was blamed, I got a warning for underaged magic, and Vernon added bars to my window and locked me in my room.”

( _It was so hot, there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t drenched in sweat. His last shower seemed to be nothing more than a dream, and they had even stopped letting him out to do yard work. At least then he could get water. One bathroom break a day was all he got though, and one glass of water with a piece of buttered bread wasn’t enough to stave off hunger. Hogwarts Feasts were another far off dream. Perhaps all of Hogwarts was a dream_.)

“Using a flying car, Ronald came and broke me out with the help of the twins. I ended up staying with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer. When I did return to Hogwarts, it was to find the passage to the train blocked off- another of Dobby’s attempts to save my life, much like the bludger during that first Quidditch match. So Ronald and I flew the car to school, because we couldn’t think of anything better.

“After the whole dueling club thing, I figured out I was a Parselmouth. Well, I’d talked to a snake once before, when I sort of freed it from the zoo, but I hadn’t known I was speaking a different language, or even that talking to snakes was a real thing. Anyway, after that we tried to figure out what was happening with the Chamber of Secrets.

“Turns out, when Voldemort was a fifth year named Tom Riddle,” there was a choking sound, and Harry couldn’t really blame them for that reaction. “He found the Chamber and opened it, using the basilisk inside to petrify students. Except he had accidently killed a girl named Myrtle Warren, and the school was endanger of closing down. Tom Riddle framed Hagrid for it, he was expelled, but Dumbledore saved him from time in Azkaban. Tom Riddle found a way to preserve the memory of his teenager self in a diary though. That diary was then given to Ginny Weasley,” he hesitated, but figured that they deserved the truth. The full truth. “By Lucius Malfoy.” He waited for Draco to speak up, but it didn’t happen. He didn’t think he could stomach seeing whatever was on his best friend’s face, so he continued on. “The diary possessed Ginny and forced her to open the Chamber, sucking the magic and life out of her all the while.”

( _Her skin was so pale, Harry thought. And she was cold. Too cold. What was happening to her? Why had she been taken into this water soaked hell?_ )

“Using something that Granger had found before she was petrified, Ronald and I came down to the Chamber with Lockhart. Turns out, Lockhart had been using the Obliviate spell to take credit for others’ achievements. He tried to Obliviate us, but he failed and ended up erasing his entire memory. It caused a cave in, though, so Ronald and I were separated. I ended up continuing on my own.

“By this point, Tom had a form, even if it wasn’t corporeal. He summoned the basilisk, but Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, brought me the Sorting Hat. It gave me the Sword of Gryffindor while Fawkes blinded the basilisk.”

( _Harry was breathing heavily, his heart stuttering in his chest. It reeked down here, and he could smell the putrid breath of the giant snake. It hissed, but Harry couldn’t even understand it, he was so distracted. He had to stop it. He had to stop Tom. Voldemort couldn’t get revived._ He couldn’t _. And Ginny was Ron’s sister. Harry couldn’t let her die._ )

“I ended up stabbing it in the mouth, but one of its fangs broke off in my arm.”

( _Burning. He felt like he was burning up from the inside. Is this what Quirrell had felt? Why was his vision going blurry? He didn’t want to die, he was only twelve._ )

“I used it to stab the diary though, and it killed Tom. Or the shade of Tom, at least. Fawkes cried on my arm and healed me, so I managed to escape with Ginny, who was alright.”

He ran his hand through his hair, pulling on his cuffs as he switched his stare from the ceiling to the edge of the wood table. The grains made strange patterns in it, he thought.

“During that summer, Vernon’s sister, Marge, visited. She found it amusing to tell me how my father was a drunk and my mother sold herself to pay for drugs, while letting her dog attack me. One night, I just… lost it. I couldn’t control my magic and it literally inflated her like some crazy balloon. I ended up just running instead of dealing with whatever punishment my uncle dreamed up. I stayed in the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer.

“Like I said, that year was probably the easiest one. Besides the fact that I was constantly worried or angry about Sirius Black, the only thing that really happened was the whole Buckbeak fiasco and the dementors being bothersome. All the way ‘till the end, that is.

“A huge black Grim showed up and dragged Ronald under the Whomping Willow. Turns out, there’s a secret passage there that leads to the Shrieking Shack. Granger and I followed, and that’s where we found out the truth. Sirius Black was never my parents’ Secret Keeper- Peter Pettigrew was.

“Pettigrew betrayed them to Voldemort, then framed Sirius. Turns out, Sirius, Pettigrew, and James Potter were all illegal Animagi. They even had names for their different forms. Pettigrew’s was Wormtail. Wormtail was a rat and had hidden himself with the Weasleys. We managed to capture him, but it was the full moon and Remus Lupin hadn’t taken the Wolfsbane potion yet. Sirius protected us from him, but Wormtail escaped and then the dementors showed up. We were all saved by a Patronus though.

“A little later on, I woke up in the hospital wing. I heard they were about to execute Sirius as soon as Fudge showed up. Granger had a Time-Turner from taking all of the available classes, so we went back. We freed Buckbeak, and _I_ cast the Patronus that saved us, before we let Sirius go.”

He swallowed and looked up at them. Their expressions ranged from shock, to disbelief, to horror. Tracy and Pansy were still crying.

“I only found this out recently but… Sirius actually blood-adopted me when I was a baby, making me the Black Heir as well as his son.” Feeling drained and hollow, Harry sat back. “And you know all about this year. So, you wanted my story, there it is.”

Silence fell once again, and Harry continued staring at the table. Had so much really happened in his life? He had always wanted to be just Harry. Thinking back on it all, he didn’t think he would _ever_ be ‘just Harry’.

“Harry.” He looked up, and found Tracy standing next to him. Her eyes were red and glistening, and she held out her hand. “I know you hate being touched, but can I hug you?” Surprised, he blinked up at her. He didn’t know why she was still crying. He’d moved on from his childhood quickly, in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to linger on it. Even so, he stood and allowed her to wrap her arms around him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and found Pansy guiding him to the large couch around the sitting area. Somehow, they all managed to fit on it, and Harry found himself getting tangled up in warm limbs, each of them holding on to each other.

* * *

 

Blaise couldn’t believe what he’d heard. To lock a child in a _cupboard_. And for Harry to face a possessed teacher as an eleven year old… The entire thing was absurd. His _life_ was absurd. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

Still, he’d opened up to them in a way that none of them had. Blaise wouldn’t offer pity, because he knew Harry wouldn’t want it. And words of comfort meant little. But there was something else he could offer, a piece of himself the same way Harry had offered himself.

“I have a twin sister,” he said quietly, breaking the silence that had filled their strange pile of bodies. Harry twisted to look over Tracy at him, and the others followed suit. Harry’s expression was raw and tired, like speaking had taken all his energy. Blaise couldn’t blame him for the feeling. Already he wanted to take it back, to put up another mask of boredom. No one knew about Cat, and he liked it that way.

But Harry had told them more about him than most probably knew, so Blaise could return the favor.

“Her name is Caterina Zabini, and she’s a squib.” He swallowed hard, before adding quietly, “When we were eleven and she didn’t get a letter, she was devastated even though we had known it was coming. A week before I was to leave for school and she was to go live with a squib family my mother knows, she tried an ancient ritual she found in a tome. It was supposed to give her magic, but instead it just paralyzed her. She can’t move from the neck down.” He could still remember the scream that had ripped from his sister’s throat. Could feel his mother’s arms holding him back as the healers rushed to her. They had kept Cat out of the public since she was a baby- the official story was that she had died- and it had become clear she was a squib. That didn’t stop those serving the Zabini family from knowing the truth. And now she was stuck in a bed, with nothing to do except listen to the stories her care takers told her.

Tracy grabbed his hand, and pulled him down so she could wrap herself around him as well as Harry. There was appreciation in Harry’s eyes, and Blaise was glad he had understood why he had spoken up. None of them had gone through anything like Harry, but they could offer a piece of themselves up as well.

* * *

 

Tracy couldn’t stop the tears. For Harry to go through something like that so young… she couldn’t imagine the pain he had felt. How alone he must have been. She wanted nothing more than to keep him safe, to make sure he never went through something like that again. She wasn’t a fighter, and Defense was her worse class, but she still wanted to help in any way she could.

He relaxed some after they all collapsed on the couch, but she wanted to do more. She wanted to _help_. What kind of Healer couldn’t even help her friends?

Then Blaise spoke up, and she grasped what he was trying to do. Offering a piece of his own past to let Harry know that he understood that life wasn’t easy. Her heart went out to his poor sister, and she wanted to tell him that she understood the pain of seeing a sibling in need and being utterly incapable of helping.

Pansy was the one who spoke up in the silence that followed Blaise’s confession.

“I have a good relationship with my mother, but I think my father hates me,” she admitted. “He never says it out loud, but I know that he’s disappointed that I haven’t managed to convince Draco to marry me. I’m also not the top of our class like he was, and…” she shrugged, but Tracy could see the hurt in her eyes. “He wanted a son as an Heir, but he got me instead. To him, a witch is only as good as her marriage match and I haven’t gotten anything yet.” Tracy drew a sharp breath, and she could see where Draco’s face darkened in anger behind Pansy.

“My father was never meant to be Lord,” Daphne said, and Tracy turned to see her where she sat half on Blaise’s lap, half on the arm rest. “His older brother committed suicide during the war though, because he couldn’t handle the pressure that was being put on him. Father took over. He taught me-” her breath caught, and Tracy saw the moment she decided not to put up her Ice Princess mask. Her face crumpled and she looked sad about whatever memory was clearly in the forefront of her mind. “He told me that I had to be stronger than him, colder than him. I had to be able to lead our House even during times of war, without crumbling like my uncle.” There was more silence before Tracy realized that it was her turn.

“I had a brother, a few years younger than me,” she said quietly, and everyone’s attention went to her. She hated having attention on her, preferred to just stay in the background, but she wanted to help Harry so that was what she would do. Besides, everyone else had offered a truth, so she had to as well. “But he got really sick when he was three, and the Healers couldn’t do anything. I remember not understanding, and I asked my dad why the Healer couldn’t help him, and he told me that sometimes, Healers just aren’t good enough.” Her eyes burned again at the memory. Michael had been a happy baby, with wide brown eyes and straw colored hair. But then he’d gotten sick and she wasn’t even allowed to be in the same room as him. All she’d wanted to do was hold him one more time, and she couldn’t even do that.

“My mother nearly died giving birth to me,” Draco confessed. “She had a hard pregnancy and she was still recovering from it when I was four or five. I remember wondering why she was so pale, why she was always shaking and couldn’t hold me herself. When I found out it was because of _me_ …” he shook his head and refused to look at them. “I blamed myself then. Still do, a little.” Tracy wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t be blamed, but she knew it wouldn’t do anything. So she just sent an understanding look his way and cuddled deeper into the tangle of limbs.

Quiet fell over their group, and only the braziers on the walls lit up the space. In this quiet room, deep bellow the school, they could all imagine they were in their own little bubble.

“Thank you,” Harry rasped. They tightened their holds on each other, and just basked in the knowledge that they weren’t alone.

* * *

 

Sometime later, after his arms and legs had long since fallen asleep and he  couldn’t bring himself to care, Pansy shifted behind him.

“Harry,” Pansy spoke directly into his shoulder from where she wrapped around his back. “Would you mind terribly if we killed your relatives?”

The ball of anxiety that had filled him as he spoke earlier uncurled, stretching into something he couldn’t name. He was warm and comfortable, despite the strange dog pile he was a part of, and he found himself smiling.  “Just don’t get caught.”

He felt her snort into his shoulder, “As if we would.”

“I’m more worried about Sirius Black.” They all turned to Tracy, and she blushed but continued. “He’s on the run for something he didn’t do. Not to mention, he can’t claim guardianship of Harry without being cleared.”

“Well, it’s obvious,” Draco said. “We clear his name.”

Pansy nodded. “As if I would let a Most Ancient and Noble Lord remain wanted for a crime he didn’t commit.”

“Agreed,” Daphne murmured. “Besides, we can’t leave Harry with his horrid aunt. He’s an Heir of two important Houses and belongs in our world.”

“I kinda already set up both Minister Fudge and Madam Bones to find the missing trial transcripts.”

“Good idea,” Draco yawned, and he looked horrified he’d do something so ungraceful. “We’ll talk to our parents when we get home. For now, sleep.”

They all fell asleep there, in a pile that would fall off the couch when Blaise accidently tried to stretch in the morning. Harry didn’t mind so much though, because he didn’t have a single nightmare.

* * *

 

The next morning, they were all glad of the relatively empty Common Rooms they returned to. They very much did not need rumors about them coming back in their dress robes to be spread over school.

Harry showered and changed before going to breakfast. He knew many of his friends would be flooing back home after eating, and he was determined to enjoying the last breakfast he had with them.

The warm, happy feeling from the night before lasted all the way until a beautiful tawny owl dropped a thick envelope carrying the seal of the DMLE. In theory, it _should_ just be Madam Bones telling him that she hadn’t found a trail transcript and that she would look into it. That was the plan. That was the whole point he’d brought it up to her at the Malfoy Yule Ball. Yet somehow, there was a pit growing in his stomach, a feeling of _wrong_ that just would not go away.

“Harry?” Draco asked. Shaking his head, he used his butter knife to open the letter. It was indeed from Madam Bones, but it wasn’t nearly as empty as he’d hoped.

Whispers started flowing around the room and Harry managed to catch the words _‘Daily Prophet_ ’. He didn’t need to look to know what story was on the front page. He had orchestrated it, after all. But this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This didn’t make any sense.

“Harry?” He didn’t know who called his name, and he didn’t particularly care. He was staring wide eyed, confused and angry beyond belief, at the letter in his hands.

_Heir Harry Potter of House Potter,_

_You have my apologizes for this taking so long to dig up. I had to track it down, but don’t worry, it was just in Minister Fudge’s office. It is my understanding that publishing it was your idea in the hope citizens would be more aware?_

_Let me know if you have any questions._

_Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

A stack of parchments, clipped together, accompanied the note.

It was the trial transcript for Sirius Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : )


	13. Sanctuaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SO SORRY. This chapter is half the length of what it was meant to be and it's really not my best work and it's been bloody forever. But I wanted to get something to you all so I could let you know some updates. Life is kinda all over the place, what with midterms the holidays coming and some stuff happening with my family. It hasn't been a very good time.   
> Also, my go to make me happy fandom is One Piece, so that's sorta where my head's been. I've decided to do the One Piece Big Bang, which for those of you who don't know, is a writing challenge for the One Piece fandom that goes through the winter. So, don't expect to see this updated for several months, at the earliest. That being said, I DO have the ending of this book planned out and we're about 3 chapters away. I might decide to write all three before I update again, we'll see.  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THOSE WHO COMMENT AND KUDOS. Seriously, y'all make me so happy and make my day. The entire reason I got off my ass and wrote even this much was because the comments left. So, thank you and I hope you all have a great life and get lots of hugs (if you like hugs) because you deserve it.

“Harry?” _Breathe,_ he reminded himself. It would do no one any good if he passed out because he was so angry, he couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t in the plan. There was _no trial_. Which meant no trial transcript. Around him, the Great Hall was buzzing with murmurs, and Harry didn’t have to look to know it was because the _Prophet_ had printed this.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked away without looking. “ _Don’t_ ,” he snarled, and he didn’t even notice when it came out as Parsletongue. But the hand tightened its grip and Harry had no choice but to turn to Draco with a burning glare. Paling, but refusing to back down, Draco smiled with false pleasantness.

“I’m surprised they would choose to print something like this. Especially considering Black has been running free for so long.” The hand tightened again, and Harry inhaled sharply. He had to calm down. _Like a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor,_ he thought. Snapping a mask over his features, turning burning anger to chilling ice, he nodded sharply to Draco and tuned back into his surroundings. He could consider what this meant _later_. Maybe he could even convince the others to duel him. He _really_ wanted to light something on fire.

“Agreed,” Blaise drawled. He seemed bored with the entire thing, but Harry knew that was just the mask he preferred. Pansy was practically bouncing in her seat next to them.

“Do you think they’re getting closer to catching him?” she asked breathily. “Maybe they’re getting ready for his trial and want everyone aware.”

“Doubtful.” Daphne raised a brow, condescension dripping from her polished manners. “This just screams of them trying to get the public more aware and thus more likely to report a sighting.”

“The Aurors trying to get others to do their work.” Blaise rolled his eyes. “Typical, no?” Draco hummed an agreement before turning away. Down the table, Harry heard a seventh-year mutter about the uselessness of their government. Honestly, Harry agreed. Though it did bring up the question of what to do from here. And _how_ there was a trial transcript in the first place.

Harry tried to return to eating, but called it quits when he bent his fork in half. Even as he politely excused himself and stalked out of the hall, he could feel the burning of hundreds of eyes on his back. Bloody vultures, trying to pick up the scraps of his reactions, just so they could feed it to the _Prophet_ like a murder of crows.

He had more important things to consider though. Like where the fuck the fake trial had come from. There was no doubt that it was faked, but that begged the question of who did the faking? The previous Minister when they had Sirius thrown in Azkaban? Or was it more recent?

“Harry!” He turned, his heels clicking sharply against the floor as he faced the knot of Slytherins heading towards him.

“Who’s more likely to fake a trial transcript? Fudge or the last Minister?”

They all paused, but Pansy answered, “Either. Both have the means and opportunity. Millicent Bagnold, the last one, would want to leave a paper trail in case someone questioned Black’s imprisonment. If Fudge found out there was no trial and he gave a kiss-on-sight sentence to an innocent man, then he’d want to cover it up. But there’s another candidate.”

“Who?”

“Dumbledore.”

Running the thought around his head, it took Harry exactly three seconds to beginning cursing out loud. “That bloody wanker! I hadn’t thought about it, but he was Chief Warlock back then too, wasn’t he? Which meant he was a part of all the trials, even the ‘closed’ ones. It was probably him. Not enough that he had to stick me with the Horse and Whale, oh no. He had to get my dad thrown into hell as well, then cover the whole thing up. That fecking, son of a munter! God’s damned, arse kissing, goat fecking clunge!”

In front of him, Blaise gave a low whistle, and Tracy frowned. “I should Scourify your mouth for that, but because you’re under a lot of stress right now I won’t.”

“Breathe, scar-face.” Harry glared at the ridiculous nickname, but Draco looked unapologetic. “It might not have been Dumbledore. I have no doubt that he knew about Black going to prison without a trial, but that doesn’t mean he’s the one who created the fake transcript. Now, we’re all going to speak with our parents over the break and get this taken care of. Can you survive until then?”

Harry grumbled, but didn’t commit. He was pissed and not likely to calm down anytime soon. Draco, knowing a lost cause when he saw one, turned on his heel and walked away.

“Fine. Mope away. At least take a look at that egg before you summon Dementors with all that negative bullshit.” Despite himself, Harry snorted and felt some of the anger and tension fade as he waved them all away.

“Yeah, yeah. Get going before Snape denies you the floo out of spite.”

* * *

A wanker Draco might be, but he was usually right. Not that Harry would ever tell him.

While he’d wanted to have a normal Christmas break for once, Harry decided that puzzling over the egg was exactly the kind of distraction he needed. After sending a letter to Sirius that is.

Nothing came of it, of course. If he opened it by hand, it just screeched at him. If he sent a spell at it, the magic would slide off like slime. After two days of it, he was so frustrated that he decided that he would just wing the next task and focused instead on teaching himself Ancient Runes. Slowly he was making sense of everything and working through the textbook at his own pace.

Eventually though, he had to face the reality of the situation.

He’d fucked up.

He had a plan to get Sirius freed and it had backfired like Ronald’s wand in second year. Worst, actually. Harry hadn’t even considered there being a fake transcript, and now it was all over the _Prophet_. Besides, now he didn’t even know who had done the faking. Was it one of the Ministers? Or Dumbledore? Was it recent, or back when Sirius was first thrown into Azkaban? Did one exist for all of the Death Eaters that didn’t receive trials? Or was it just Sirius?

Worse, he hadn’t even heard from Sirius yet. It had been two days since the article came out and Harry sent a letter. A letter filled with little more than apologies and requests for a meeting.

Was he that mad at Harry? He’d thought everything was going well, had thought that Sirius wouldn’t be like the rest. Always fickle, always changing their minds. Then again, Harry couldn’t really blame him for getting mad. He’d messed up really badly, and he couldn’t see a way out of this.

Right now, he really missed Draco and the others.

* * *

 

**Thursday, December 29 th, 1994**

_The same moldy building, air thick with dust and decay._

_“Report.”_

_“I’ve seen nothing to indicate the boy has figured out the clue. But I’m not worried. Over the last month, he’s rocketed into the top ten in all his classes and his friends will no doubt help him find the answer as soon as they return.” A hissing sound, hair raising but almost… familiar. Something thick and long shifts on the ground._

_“_ Massster, he tasstessss of exccitement.”

_The blonde man shuttered, eyes wide and smile splitting his face._

_“Tell me, what’s so exciting, Barty.”_

_“It’s the boy, my Lord. He went to Malfoy Manor for Yule.”_

_“Get to the point.”_

_“The Malfoys always celebrate the Old Rights. I have no reason to think this year was any different, my Lord.”_

_A beat of silence, before hissing laughter filled the room._

* * *

 

Harry hated the dreams. Hated the fire in his head, and the ach in his bones. Hated the way his body vibrated with need for… _something_. Probably a good night’s rest. Mostly, he hated the way the voices always echoed in his head with tantalizing familiarity, despite never being able to remember more than snippets of what he heard.

Still, he’d take them over the stirred up memories of his past.

* * *

 

_"My Lord, I have news.”_

_“Speak, Barty.”_

_“After the Ball tonight, I followed him. He led his friends to a wall and spoke the sacred language before leading them down the tunnel.”_

_The room was dead quiet, and the blond man- Barty’s- pleased smile trembled before disappearing._

_“What do you mean he spoke Parseltongue?”_

_“He carries the gift, my Lord. It was revealed in his second year.”_

_Red light. Screams._

_“F-forgive me, my Lord! I th-thought the rat had t-told you!” A pause._

_“Wormtail!”_ Him _. He scampered in, already whimpering. Magic filled the air, thickening it darkly._

_Two screams this time._

* * *

 

Harry woke with his lungs in his throat, heart pounding a heavy beat against his chest. Glad for the protection and silencing wards around his bed Draco had taught him, he took a few minutes to consider that dream. In general, they were getting worse and that was the second one within a single night. All he could remember was Wormtail and the other man- what _was_ his name? He could never remember when he woke up- on the ground screaming in pain. The sound echoed around Harry’s head and he shivered involuntarily. They sounded so- raw. Primal. A pure sound that resonated with submission. Something pleased slithered down Harry’s spine and his stomach rolled.

Merlin, he’d liked the sound. Had enjoyed it ripped from Wormtail’s throat. But Wormtail was a horrible person, was a traitor that got Harry’s parents killed. If he was in pain, that was alright.

Right?

* * *

**Friday, December 30 th, 1994**

_“Tell me, Barty, what’s your relationship with the boy.”_

_“I think he likes me as a professor, my Lord. But I’m not close to him.”_

_“Change that.”_

_“Of course, my Lord.”_

* * *

 

_“My Lord?”_

_“What, Barty.”_

_“If it wouldn’t be impertinent, my Lord, I’d like to ask you a question.”_

_A tense beat of silence._

_“Did you know you’re one of my favorites, Barty?”A surprised look, but no spells were flying._

_“No, my Lord. You honor me.” A small hiss, a light chuckle._

_“Bellatrix is creative in her cruelty, but acts rashly. Lucius is clever and manipulative, but doesn’t worry about making enemies and so has many. You though. You’re sharp, and cruel, and_ subtle _. You would’ve been a perfect Slytherin, if not for you valuing intelligence above ambition. Ask your question.”_

_“Thank you, my Lord. It means a great deal that you would think so highly of me. I was wondering if She was pleased with us?”_

_“She speaks to me little, while I hold this form. But I will fix the Balance and bring the Dark back to power, where it belongs. We will rule this country, Barty. And eventually, the world.”_

* * *

 

**Friday, December 30 th, 1994**

Sirius was highly unamused. This was actually an unusual state of affairs, but what was really different about this situation was _who_ was causing such a reaction.

“You can’t be serious, Dumbledore.” Dumbledore smiled, pulling a few candies from his pocket.

“Why, you’re Sirius, not me. Lemon drop?”

“Circe’s tits, this is not the time!” Dumbledore only raised a brow, his eyes twinkling. Sirius used to look up to this man, used to respect and even worship him. This was _Albus Dumbledore_. This was the man that showed Sirius his family didn’t define him. And here he was, telling him to run away.

“You must see this isn’t healthy, my boy. Living in caves so close to a town. Do you plan to be captured? Cornelius is quite set on giving you the kiss.”

“I don’t care! I won’t leave Harry.”

“Sirius-“

“Don’t look at me like that!” With those kind, pitying eyes; with too much knowing and too little weakness in that smile. Sirius had hated many things in his life, but he couldn’t remember a time when so many Dark curses were itching to escape from his wand. Not since he’d been faced with Wormtail all those years ago, at least.

“It is unfortunate that young Harry’s plan has gone so awry-“

“Wait, Harry’s plan?” Dumbledore stared blankly at him for a moment, before raising a thick white brow.

“Why, of course. Who do you think suggested that Cornelius published your trial transcripts? He told me himself that he was hoping to bring to light your lack of trial and get you freed. I’m only disappointed he didn’t come to me first, I could’ve stopped this disaster. Has he not contacted you?”

Sirius croaked out a “no” but then fell silent. Hadrian had tried to free him? But then, why hadn’t Sirius heard from him? He’d sent out two letters already, and panic was building low in his gut. This was his _son_ , and he wasn’t answering. Was Hadrian avoiding him because he was worried Sirius would be mad? Didn’t he know that Sirius wouldn’t care even if he joined Voldemort, much less something as simple as this?

Sirius wanted to be freed, sure. But only so he could better care for Hadrian.

“I think it best if you leave for a while, my boy,” Dumbledore said kindly. “You being here is clearly distracting Harry. He should focus on the Tournament. I fear for what is to come.” Sirius almost asked for clarification, before remembering who he was talking to. Dumbledore never explained anything.

“I’ll consider it.” Dumbledore opened his mouth again, but Sirius was already turning away, shifting as he did so. With a sigh, Dumbledore turned away and left.

Sirius liked being in his dog form, liked the way everything seemed simpler. Like the reminder of the fun times, when baby Hadrian would ride on his back and Lily would yell at them to stop being idiots and magic themselves some more braincells.

Merlin, he missed Lily. And James. Right now though, he just wanted Harry. They’d taken to meeting on Sundays, as most of the castle went to bed early. Maybe Sirius would just go to the Shack in two days and see if Hadrian came. Sirius didn’t care that he led to the transcript being plastered all over the place. He just wanted his son to be happy.

* * *

 

**Saturday, December 31 st, 1994**

“Potter.” Turning on his heel, Harry faced Moody as he lumbered closer, his leg _clunk_ ing and his eye swirling.

“Yes, Professor?” Harry liked Moody well enough. He was the best defense teacher they’d ever had- including Remus- and didn’t lie to them about what was out there. Even if he was a bit tense and biased against Slytherins.

“Walk with me, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

He’d done this yesterday as well. Just asked Harry to walk and talk with him for a little bit. Harry hadn’t said anything too interesting, having a feeling that it was Dumbledore trying to get him to “come to the Light” or some such rot. Still, he found Moody to be good company, with a dry humor and startling intelligence and perception. Harry almost thought him a Ravenclaw, instead of a Hufflepuff.

“Finished your assignments yet?”

“Yes, sir. My Defense paper is a little long. I hope you don’t mind.”

He snorted. “If you actually considered the question instead of spitting out some Ministry washed nonsense, I’ll give you an O.” Harry eyed Moody from the side. That was an… unusual reaction. The assignment was on the morals of what’s okay to use in battle. While the others had used carefully worded phrases to ensure there was no possibility of being labeled “Dark”, Harry had actually written a three scroll long paper on the pros and cons of various spells, and how in a life or death situation, you used what kept you alive. He was a little less worried about the reception of it considering, as Blaise put it, he was “super boy, with the power of doing what he wants without consequences because he killed a man as a baby.”

Maybe he should tell the others to write a real paper instead of throwing out “Ministry washed nonsense”.

“Yes, sir.”

Moody’s blue eye flicked to him, glinting in the dull light. “Doesn’t matter what Albus says, boy. In a battle, all that matters is your life and your wand.”

Now Harry was certainly interested. Shouldn’t an Auror be lecturing on protecting the innocent? “I’ll remember, sir.”

Moody grunted, but fell silent. Harry took a moment to gather his bearings, taking notice of where they were. He’d followed Moody, who was wandering aimlessly, but Harry recognized this hallway. Just on the left was the secret path that led to the Chamber. The same one he’d taken on Yule.

There was something about that, some little detail that sat at the back of his mind, bothering him. But he couldn’t quite grasp it.

“You’ve dueled before?” Moody asked abruptly.

“Yes, sir. A few times.” Every time their group met to study, actually. For Defense, they always went around in circles, dueling each other until they couldn’t move.

“Good. I expect to see you win in class, then.”

“Yes, sir.” Moody left shortly after that.

* * *

 

_“Won’t you lose your true form, my Lord?”_

_“Doesn’t matter. I must hold a body, even if it isn’t my natural one. The ritual would allow that.”_

_“But if you used the second one you created-”_

_“Enough, Barty. That one is impossible at the moment.”_

_“Yes, my Lord.”_

* * *

 

**Sunday, January 1 st, 1995**

“You want Sirius to _what_?!”

Daphne clicked her tongue and Harry snapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard. _Breathe; calming thoughts_. Of course, his thoughts were too busy running on a loop. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and Moody had taken him for another of their walks around the castle today. Harry was coming to like him quite a bit, but was a little confused at his personality. In class he was gruff and abrupt, always a little harsher on Slytherins and even some Ravenclaws. But with Harry he was… not kinder, but more relatable. Less of a zealot than Harry expected from a man that was supposedly loyal to Dumbledore. There was a question there, something wrong that Harry knew he had the answer to but couldn’t quite grasp, and was driving him insane. And now there was _this_.

“Explain,” he commanded. Draco sneered but Pansy glared him into submission.

“My mother is a Black,” Draco said shortly. “And Sirius’s cousin. Their words might be _Toujour Pur_ , but their motto has always been ‘Blacks first, the world second’.”

It made sense. And Narcissa had been kind to Harry, if a little imposing. There was one little problem, though. “And your father?” Draco’s lips pursed, but he didn’t deny the underlying truth; his father was a Death Eater that Sirius had fought against.

“Is willing to put things in the past. If you can get Sirius to agree to it, he’ll have sanctuary at Malfoy Manor. They’ll figure out how to clear his name from there.” Nodding shakily, Harry turned from them abruptly, facing the dark wall within the Chamber. There was one little problem with all of this. One he didn’t want to bring up.

“Harry?” Tracy asked, voice hard and demanding. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“I…” he cleared his throat and started again. “I haven’t heard from him since we got back from Yule. He never answered my letter.” Harry hadn’t bothered sending a second one. Hadn’t wanted the disappointment.

“What? Why?” Shrugging, forcing his body to relax and appear unworried, Harry turned.

“Don’t know.” The girls were frowning and Blaise was opening his mouth, so Harry hurried on. “We should be getting to bed. Classes start tomorrow.” With several tight looks, they all made their way upstairs. Draco pulled him aside before he could part from them.

“Don’t you usually meet him on Sundays?” Harry didn’t need to ask who.

“Well, yeah. But-”

“We’re going.”

“What? Draco-“ but Draco was already tugging him into a secret passage and down towards a side door that would lead them to the Whomping Willow. Harry never should’ve told them how to find the passage. “Draco, he clearly doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Harry, you’re being stupid. And Gryffindor-ish. I thought I had trained that out of you.” Offended, Harry yanked his arm free, pausing in the glistening snow. It was freezing out here, and it took him a moment to cast the Warming Charm.

“I’m not your dog.”

“No, your hair is much too organized to be a dog’s. Nice job on the Sleakeasy by the way.” Harry smiled a little, glad Draco had noticed he’d been taking care to style his hair back. Harry had also started growing it out, in the vague hope tying it back would keep it under control.

“Thank y- wait, that’s not the point!”

Draco snickered and smirked, the light turning his hair silver and making him look ethereal. “Alright, alright. My point is that this is probably just a mistake or something. He’s probably waiting for you.”

Harry frowned, trying to stamp down the hope lighting in his chest. It was possible… but unlikely. Why wouldn’t Sirius be mad at him?

“Right, stop being an idiot.” With a push, Harry was sent stumbling down the path. He wasn’t getting out of this, was he? Well, at least he could get this over with and put the disappointment behind him. He turned though, when he didn’t hear snow crunching behind him.

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Of course not. I just came out to get you to visit him.”

“Draco, don’t be stupid. You’re already out here. Just come meet Sirius.”

“Are you kidding? Harry, that’s your _father_.”

“So? I’ve met your dad.”

“That’s… different.” Harry stared at him, supremely unimpressed. Finally, Draco trudged along, muttering, though Harry didn’t know about what. He didn’t particularly care. It wasn’t as if Sirius would actually be there. And what did Draco care if he met Harry’s dad?

The tunnel was dark and dank, wet earth and hard packed dirt permeating their senses. It wasn’t long before Harry led the way through the trapdoor, Draco following him into the dark house. Standing for a moment, Harry sighed when he wasn’t immediately tackled.

“See, Draco? Told you-” A shadow shifted to the side and Harry broke off in time to feel thin arms wrap around him, tugging him close.

“Harry! Oh thank Merlin. I was so worried.”

“D-dad?!” Shuttering, relief coursing through him, Harry returned the hug, eyes burning. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I had a plan, and I messed up and-”

“Shhh, it’s okay. We’ll manage somehow. But why didn’t you answer my letters?”

“Wha…? Wait, _you responded_?” They pulled back from each other, both faces washed in surprise.

“What do you mean? I tried contacting you, but you never responded. I thought something had happened.” Mind spinning, Harry looked over to Draco. Blond brows furrowed, he chewed on his lip. “And is this…?”

“Oh, right. Dad this is Draco. I’ve told you about him.” Oh, maybe he should’ve done a formal introduction. But Sirius wasn’t a fan of formalities. Draco probably wouldn’t care.

Gathering himself, Draco raised a brow. “All good things, I expect.”

Sirius snorted, but Harry saw the predatory glint in his eye. “Give or take a few. You’re the po-” Sirius visibly stopped himself from insulting someone, lips thinning. “I mean, you must be Lucius’s boy. I do hope my dear cousin has been a good mother?” Lips twitching at the clear avoidance of mentioning anything about his father, Draco nodded.

“She has. Well met, Lord Black.”

“Well met, Heir Malfoy. Call me Sirius. I don’t actually have the Lordship yet.” Silence fell after Draco nodded his accent, clearly having no inclination to return the invitation.

“You said you sent me a letter,” Harry finally broke in, the staring contest between his father and best friend becoming too much for him.

“I did. Clearly you never got it. Wonder why.”

“Dumbledore would be my guess,” Draco added. “We’ve recently discovered Harry had a Ward around him that prevented him from getting letters from various high class families. I wouldn’t be surprised if the old man did it again.”

Sirius’s face darkened, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “Morgana’s tits, that would explain why he tried to convince me to leave.”

“He did _what_?” As Sirius explained what happened, Harry found himself itching more and more for his wand. That meddling old coot just could not let him be happy. But… that could be dealt with later. There were more important things to take care of.

“As mad as I am at him, we have a bigger problem. What do we do to clear your name?” Sirius shrugged, lips turned up in a wry grin.

“No idea. It’d be nice to have my name cleared, but I’m not surprised it’s not as easy as we hoped. Dumbledore and the old Minister _really_ wanted me out of the picture.”

“So you think it was one of those two that set this up?” They had been Harry’s main suspects, but it would be nice to have confirmation.

Shrugging again, Sirius added, “Maybe, but I have no way of knowing for sure.”

“Well,” Draco broke in, “Until we do know for sure, it’s best we get you out of this hovel.”

“Oh?” Sirius’s demeaner turned noticeably colder, and Harry winced. Of course it was too much to hope for that they’d get along. “And how do you suggest we do that, Heir Malfoy?”

Pushing his shoulders back and tilting his chin up, Draco smirked. “Lord Apparent Black, by order of its Lady, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy herby offers you sanctuary. Make your way to our Manor and you’ll have our protection.” There was silence for a moment, and Harry took the time to feel a rush of warmth at Draco doing this for someone he clearly didn’t like.

Sirius opened and closed his mouth a few times, before finally settling on a blank face. “And your Lord?”

“Has agreed to a truce, should you take up our offer.” Grinding his teeth, and glancing at Harry, Sirius clearly fought with the choice. These were his enemies, Harry remembered. The people who he’d fought against in the war that had taken everything from him.

“Please,” Harry beseeched, “I want you to be safe.”

Shoulder tense, jaw locked, Sirius slowly nodded his head before meeting Draco’s eyes. “Very well. Thank you, Heir Malfoy. I accept your offer of sanctuary.”


End file.
